


The Best of Both Worlds

by AppleSeeds



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 19th Century, A pine forest so extensive it could reverse climate change, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 19th Century, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Caring, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Even in an AU God ships them, First Kiss, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Gabriel is a bit of an arse but he gets better, Gardens & Gardening, Herbalism, M/M, Michael is sweet, Mild Smut, Misunderstandings, My First Fanfic, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Sickness, Victorian, Victorian Flower Language, You can trust her she's an angel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25771429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleSeeds/pseuds/AppleSeeds
Summary: It’s 1895, and Aziraphale runs an old-fashioned apothecary shop with his brother Gabriel. Crowley is a pharmacist secretly planning to take over their business. But after he meets Aziraphale, the most adorable and trusting person ever to walk the Earth, what starts as an semi-innocent flirtation rapidly turns Crowley into a pining mess. This calls for a change of plans...Basically lots of flirting, Crowley's ridiculous internal monologue and a close encounter in a very small shed, followed by rather a lot of angst and misunderstanding (but I promise it’ll all be lovely and fluffy in the end).
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 100
Kudos: 185
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs, Ineffable Humans AU





	1. Something to calm a racing heart

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever fanfic, hope you enjoy it! It's all written, just needs some editing so I'll be updating regularly.

_Fell’s Apothecary, 1895._

Crowley sauntered around the apothecary shop, his long, black travelling cloak swaying around his ankles. He surveyed the space with interest, pulling out drawers of medicines at random before pushing them back in. He grazed his fingertips over the merchandise, picking up bottles and vials, studying them and placing them back down, his eyes roving over all of the shelves.

After several minutes of watching Crowley inspecting almost every item in the shop, the man behind the counter cleared his throat, and succeeded in eliciting Crowley’s attention. He turned his head towards the sound, the image of the owner of this shop being exactly what he had expected. This had to be Gabriel, his reputation for unjustified arrogance preceding him. He exuded smugness, drawing a sneer from Crowley as he plucked another item from the shelf in front of him.

“Is there something I can help you with, Mr...?”

“Crowley. Just browsing at the moment.”

“One doesn’t normally visit an apothecary to _browse_ , Mr. Crowley.”

“I’m in the market for many things,” Crowley replied cryptically. Gabriel scowled at him, but it only served to elicit a smirk from Crowley, who raised his eyebrows and returned the packet of witch hazel bark he’d been fondling to the shelf. If this was how Gabriel spoke to his customers it was no wonder Crowley had heard the business was failing, and having had several minutes now to explore the space, Crowley was quite certain that this would be the perfect site for his new, modern pharmacy. The world had moved on from using pieces of dried bark to cure ailments, he thought with a smile, now handling a packet of willow bark and turning it over in his hands. He’d heard of a scientist in Germany who had created something called aspirin, a refined version of the active ingredient found in the very material he now held in his hand. Much more potent. Much more effective. This was to be the way of the future, one didn’t have to consult books of prophecy to see it coming.

Crowley’s attention was drawn away from his thoughts by the sound of a telephone ringing, an unusual enough occurrence to successfully distract him. He was amazed that Gabriel could afford such a piece of modern technology. Even without the research he had already conducted into the affairs of the apothecary, it would be evident that business was slow. Crowley had been watching the customers, or rather lack thereof, coming and going for weeks now, and suffice it to say he was the only customer in the shop at the present moment.

“Aziraphale, come and attend to Mr. Crowley. I must answer the telephone.” Gabriel locked eyes with Crowley as he pointedly spoke the last few words. _Look at me, I have a telephone, I’m so modern_ , the voice in Crowley’s head mocked as he glared back at Gabriel.

“Oh! Right!” Crowley heard what sounded like a glass jar hitting a wooden surface, followed by many tiny items scattering, some very quiet and polite cursing (of sorts), shuffling, fabric rustling, and a small bang. Crowley smirked again, while Gabriel merely rolled his eyes and retreated to the room behind the counter to answer the telephone. Taking over this place was going to be the easiest thing Crowley had ever d-...

The man Gabriel had addressed as Aziraphale appeared from behind a hatched partition, looking slightly ruffled and smoothing his hands down the front of his waistcoat. Crowley’s eyes followed the movement of his hand as it progressed down his abdomen, then flicked up to Aziraphale’s face, taking in the soft blond curls and such a gentle, disarming expression that Crowley coughed and covered his face with his hand to try to disguise the manner in which his mouth had momentarily hung open.

“Oh, hello,” Aziraphale tilted his head ever so slightly to the side and smiled, leaving Crowley, for the first time in a very long time, at a loss for words. Aziraphale’s smile broadened, waiting for Crowley to speak. When no words were forthcoming, he prompted, “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Crowley?”

“Just Crowley. Everyone calls me Crowley.”

“Ah.” Another smile, and the slight raise of an eyebrow and crinkling around the eyes revealing that this smile was genuine. Genuine smiles weren’t something Crowley saw much of these days. Certainly not cast in his direction. Crowley studied the man standing behind the counter, noticing that Aziraphale was somehow able to focus directly and intently on both of his eyes at once, looking at him as though there was nothing else to look at in the entire world. There was some tension in his posture, as though perhaps he wasn’t truly comfortable, but he exuded a sense of welcoming so free from judgement that it immobilised Crowley for a moment. Crowley felt the corners of his mouth being pulled into an involuntary smile in return, at which the tension released from Aziraphale’s shoulders and Crowley’s stomach felt like it had been possessed by a butter churn. (Crowley had a habit of coming up with random analogies to describe uncomfortable feelings in order to distract himself from them. Butter churn was quite normal. The worse the feelings got, the more elaborate and ridiculous the analogies).

_Oh no... I could really do without this_ , Crowley thought, clutching his hands to his abdomen to try to stop the churning. This was the last thing he needed to get in the way of his plans.

Gabriel returned, blustering back behind the counter and knocking Aziraphale in the process. Aziraphale’s smile drained completely away as he rubbed his shoulder where Gabriel had collided with him, and Crowley clenched his fists.

“Who called on the telephone, Gabriel?” Aziraphale murmured, taking a side step to increase the distance between himself and the other man.

“Oh, just Mr. Hastur,” Gabriel growled. Crowley listened with interest, this was a name he recognised. Hastur owned the building, they’d shared correspondence already, and he seemed much more in favour of a modern pharmacy than an archaic apothecary occupying his property. “I should have told him he had dialled the wrong number,” Gabriel murmured quietly to Aziraphale.

“Out of all, what, _twelve_ telephone numbers in this area?” Crowley mocked, realising then that pointing out how few people possessed this technology was hardly an insult, but pleased that it had been delivered scathingly enough to still appear as one.

“But that would be lying!” Aziraphale protested simultaneously. The innocence gracing his handsome features melted Crowley’s heart. Oh, he really was going to turn out to be as genuine and adorable as his first impression suggested. Crowley flinched against the onslaught and now pressed the length of his forearms across his abdomen, needing more force than his hands could provide to attempt to crush the unsettling feelings developing there.

“We’ll discuss this later, Aziraphale,” Gabriel muttered under his breath, then raised his voice to bring Crowley into the conversation. “Have you managed to identify anything in particular that you’re ‘in the market for’ yet, Mr. Crowley?”

There was no suppressing the grin that spread across Crowley’s face. The present rhythmic abdominal butter churning may have been the last thing he had expected to befall him today, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun with it, and that was an opening he couldn’t pass up.

“Yes, I believe I have.” He stared pointedly into Aziraphale’s eyes. The blond man averted his gaze and fiddled with a button on his waistcoat, then smoothed his lapels and tugged at his sleeves. _Adorable. So ridiculously and inconveniently adorable._ Crowley suppressed a wink. That would have been too much, surely? _For now_.

“Yes?” Gabriel prompted, widening his eyes and shaking his head. It had been a long time since Crowley had flirted with anyone, but “blindingly obvious” was the strategy his tongue seemed to latch on to, and well, if that’s what was going to happen, he might as well throw himself into it.

“Do you have anything to slow down the beating of the heart?” Crowley asked softly, stepping closer to the counter and placing his hand over his chest. Although Gabriel had asked him the question, Crowley’s eyes never left Aziraphale, whose gaze flicked back up from inspecting his clothing. Closer now, Crowley could make out his beautiful grey-blue eyes, and pressed his arms tighter against his body, the butter churn in his stomach now being cranked at maximum speed. He might have told himself this was a game, but his body seemed to be taking it very seriously indeed, not that he could afford to acknowledge that. Aziraphale picked at a loose thread at his wrist.

“Of course. Valerian. Fetch some, Aziraphale.”

“Right away, Gabriel.” Aziraphale glanced up to look at Crowley for the briefest moment before his attention became directed squarely at the floor. He squeezed through a gap in the counter, entering the shop and efficiently finding and retrieving a jar of dried valerian flowers.

“Is there anything else we can do for you?” Gabriel asked.

“That will do for now,” Crowley replied, reaching out to pluck the jar from Aziraphale’s grasp, making no effort to avoid grazing his fingertips against Aziraphale’s. “Thank you, angel,” he murmured softly, just for Aziraphale to hear. Aziraphale furrowed his brow and retreated hastily behind the counter.

_Well that went down like a lead balloon_ , Crowley thought, handing over the money to pay for the valerian to Gabriel, placing his hat on his head and stepping back out on to the rainy street.


	2. Some places to rub some oil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley goes back to the apothecary shop and tries to take the flirting up a notch.

The next time Crowley visited Fell’s Apothecary, Aziraphale was alone. This was of course by design, and Crowley’s clothes were now soaked through from standing in the rain for so long watching and waiting for Gabriel to leave.

Crowley had come back to conduct more research (honestly, that’s all he was doing). He needed to survey the space again, and he was concerned that Gabriel would be suspicious. But Aziraphale... well, he probably wasn’t _capable_ of suspicion. Crowley had had his fun, there was no other reason to want to see Aziraphale alone. (Except of course there _was_ , and Crowley wondered how long he’d be able to make the effort to even _try_ to deny it.)

“Oh! Good afternoon, Crowley!” Aziraphale greeted him as Crowley shoved his ineffectual black umbrella into the coat stand by the door.

“Aziraphale.” This time, Crowley immediately approached the counter and leaned both arms on it, a puddle gradually forming at his feet as his cloak dripped.

“What can I do for you today?” Aziraphale asked cheerfully. “Was the valerian effective?”

“Not particularly, angel,” Crowley tilted his head and forced a sigh, leaning close to Aziraphale across the counter and resting his chin on the back of his hand as he gazed into his eyes. “My heart’s still racing.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear it,” Aziraphale replied, behaving as if there were nothing unusual about Crowley’s demeanour. Crowley pulled back, straightened up and stretched his spine. The flirting strategy perhaps ought to be renamed _blindingly obvious to everyone except adorable, genuine, angelic beings named Aziraphale_.

“Can you recommend anything else?”

“Well, that depends on what’s causing the problem,” Aziraphale began, and Crowley narrowed his eyes. If he’d still been leaning in close to Aziraphale it would have been very tempting to let the wink that wanted to assert itself actually happen and murmur “ _Oh, I think you know_ ”. Possibly even reach out and adjust that absurd tartan bow tie... _Blindingly obvious to absolutely everyone who ever lived, surely_. But as he watched Aziraphale, he realised that the apothecary almost certainly, genuinely, had not realised the effect he was having on Crowley, which only served to make him even more adorable.

The safest option was not to respond, and this was successful in prompting Aziraphale to elaborate. “You could try lavender, but that will have more of a general sedative effect. I have a lovely lavender infusion here, I make it myself. I dry the flowers and then steep them in oil for three weeks in a glass jar placed in the sunshine. It is very effective to elicit calm.” Aziraphale’s entire face lit up as he rambled on about his creation, and that light burned into Crowley’s soul.

If he had thoroughly assessed the potential hazards before embarking on this flirtation, Crowley might have foreseen the risk that this might, very quickly in fact, become something less like a bit of light entertainment and more like the kind of thing that would keep him up at night pining for more. Aziraphale was exactly the kind of warmth and light and truth that he needed in his life. Pharmaceutical development was already shaping up to be a cutthroat, competitive business. It wasn’t a line of work that involved making lots of friends, showing vulnerability or trusting people (and by the same measure, being trusted). Aziraphale was the antithesis of all that. How could Crowley have fooled himself into thinking his intentions weren’t completely serious?

_No, I can’t afford for this to be serious. It’s nice, he’s nice, I’m just having fun._ Crowley rolled his shoulders back and tugged his cloak straight, flicking more water on to the floor.

“When have we ever had three weeks of sunshine in England?” Crowley muttered, intentionally shaking more water from his cloak, rather proud of himself for managing to actually respond to Aziraphale with something that didn’t sound like the output he would expect if he slammed his face on to a typewriter.

“Oh, well, yes...” Aziraphale chuckled, leaning over the counter to gaze disapprovingly at the puddle of water beneath Crowley. Although he was looking at the floor, Crowley imagined that Aziraphale’s gaze had reached it by travelling down the length of his body, and the idea of Aziraphale inspecting him so closely made him shudder. The butter churn had moved out of his stomach, but it had been replaced by an entire hive of bees busily making honey. “Although I assure you, it does happen.”

“You should probably put the price up. Anything that needs _three weeks_ of sunshine to make is bound to be a rare commodity. I’ll take it.”

“Oh, splendid! You’ll take it _before_ I put the price up, I presume?” Aziraphale joked, the corners of his mouth tugging into a small smile. The bees vacated Crowley’s stomach and buzzed through his veins in search of nectar (he was slightly concerned they would burst out through his eyeballs in search of the sweetness that lay before him... _UGGGHH_ _Crowley, you seriously need to calm down_ ).

Thankfully, the only outward manifestation of Crowley’s turmoil was the soft smile he gave Aziraphale in return. This prompted Aziraphale to beam at him, the type of smile that not only melted Crowley’s heart and burned into his soul but now made want to peel off his skin to release the bees and rid himself of the buzzing that filled every inch of his body. Crowley cursed himself for being so self-destructive. He should never have come back here and subjected himself to this. It was going to add all sorts of complications to his plans.

“Either way, angel,” he replied softly, amazed by how level his voice was. He berated himself once more. Offering to pay more was hardly the _best_ way to ensure the apothecary shop went out of business. _Shit._

Aziraphale squeezed through the gap in the counter (Crowley couldn’t admit to being jealous of that counter, pressed right up against Aziraphale, digging into that sweet, soft body... that would be ludicrous) and ventured out into the shop once again, quickly finding the lavender oil. He made no move to hold it out to Crowley, instead clutching it near his stomach and passing it between his hands.

“Why do you call me ‘angel’?”

“Your name. Sounds like an angel.”

“And Gabriel?”

“He’s no angel,” Crowley sneered. Aziraphale laughed openly then, and it was a good thing he hadn’t passed Crowley that glass jar yet, he would have almost certainly dropped it. Crowley couldn’t remember ever seeing a more beautiful and gratifying sight in his life. _I did that. I made him laugh like that._ Crowley shivered (surely just owing to his wet clothes).

“Yes. Rather.” Aziraphale grinned, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. He held out the jar to Crowley. Another brush of fingers.

“What do I do with it?”

“Apply it to your skin.”

“Anywhere in particular, or...?” Crowley drawled as he took a step closer to Aziraphale, not quite prepared to stop playing this dangerous game. This wouldn’t be the first time Crowley had been tempted by something addictive that was quite evidently bad for him.

“Your pulse points would be most effective.”

“Will you show me?” Crowley tilted his head and rubbed the back of his hand along his jawbone. He held the glass jar out towards Aziraphale.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Aziraphale replied, and Crowley’s eyes widened. He pressed his lips together to force his mouth to keep shut. _Now_ this _is the kind of customer service that could justify this place staying in business._

Aziraphale took the jar from him and pulled out the cork stopper. He tilted the jar carefully against his fingertips until they were coated in oil and then replaced the stopper and set it down on the shelf beside him.

“The best places to apply it are here...” Aziraphale began, lifting his own hand rather than Crowley’s and rubbing the oil into his wrist. With Aziraphale’s attention directed downwards, Crowley didn’t feel the need to stop himself from throwing his head back and glaring towards the heavens, but he did manage to suppress a growl. _Of course_ Aziraphale would demonstrate on himself, what did Crowley really think, that he would reach over and start rubbing oil on him? “And here,” Aziraphale continued, gently touching his neck just below his jaw, followed by his temples. Crowley licked his lips. Watching this angel put oil on himself... _that will do, actually_ , he thought, with an apologetic glance upwards. _That will do nicely._

“Right. Thank you,” Crowley croaked. The scent of lavender hung in the air between them and Crowley took a deep breath, praying it would work and do something to soothe his racing heart. Aziraphale returned the jar to Crowley, avoiding a brush of fingers this time but rewarding him with a genuine smile. Crowley handed over the money, they exchanged pleasantries, he yanked his umbrella more aggressively than needed out of the coat stand and once again took to the rainy streets. He didn’t even bother opening the umbrella, instead opting to let the rain beat down on him. _Shitshitshitshitshit_.

“Why me?” he cried out loud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's started reading this story (which looks nothing like the presentation I'm supposed to be writing but never mind), I really appreciate it!
> 
> Your comments and kudos will bring me three weeks of sunshine to infuse my oil with lavender. <3


	3. Reconnoitre the groin region

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's plans start falling apart as Aziraphale opens up to him about the apothecary business.

Maybe he could find another property to rent? Somewhere else to open his pharmacy? But even if he found new premises, he knew it would attract away what few customers the apothecary shop still had. It was happening all over the country, the future was written and there was no point trying to fight it. Maybe he should just leave this town and go somewhere else entirely. He'd heard lovely things about Wales.

“You’ve met the man _twice_ ,” Crowley growled at his reflection. “Why should you care what happens to that place? It’s just business. Come on Crowley, buck up.” He splashed water on his face and scowled at himself one last time before pressing a towel to his face, harder than needed to dry off. All he could think about was speaking to Aziraphale again.

It would have been too suspicious he mused, even in the eyes of someone like Aziraphale, to only go into the shop when Gabriel stepped out, but Crowley had another idea. The alley behind the apothecary shop backed not right up to the shop itself, but to a garden. From his enquiries to Hastur about the property he knew that the garden came with the shop.

Crowley started walking down that alley as a matter of course, and after a few days he spotted his target, revealed only by the presence of those light blond curls poking up from behind a cluster of young parsley plants. Aziraphale was crouched down pulling weeds, and Crowley watched him silently, leaning on the low, stone garden wall. When Aziraphale stood he caught sight of Crowley, jumping back and dropping the weeds on to the floor.

“Oh dear! Crowley! You startled me!”

“Hello, angel.” Aziraphale narrowed his eyes and huffed loudly, bending down to pick up the weeds. “Do you need a hand? I’m excellent with plants,” Crowley announced with a grin.

“Oh, are you?”

“I’ve won awards for my chrysanthemums. The secret is to make sure they know who’s in charge.” Crowley winked (it was bound to happen eventually, and this seemed like a safer topic on which to unleash it), but Aziraphale didn’t seem particularly impressed, huffing again and turning his face away.

“Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Crowley?” Aziraphale muttered in the direction of the parsley plants.

_Mr._ Crowley. _Ouch_. Crowley flinched. _Better back off._

“No, I’m sorry, ang... Aziraphale. I just saw you and thought I would say hello. Oh, and the lavender oil, absolutely wonderful stuff, worked like a charm. I slept better than I had in weeks. I just wanted to thank you.” Aziraphale turned back to him and visibly softened. Crowley breathed out a sigh of relief.

“I’m delighted to hear it.”

“ _You_ should be running that shop. I get the impression Gabriel’s in charge?”

“Well, yes, he is the eldest. Our father left the shop to him.” So, that settled it, they were brothers. They had to have been, really, with names like that. They must have had very religious parents.

“Do you grow things for the shop here?”

“Yes, I grow as much as I can myself. Busy time now, clearing the beds, getting the seeds started.” Well, that sounded like a hint if ever Crowley had heard one. _Better not push it._

“Well, I’m sorry to have kept you, Aziraphale.”

“Oh...” Aziraphale stepped closer to him, depositing the weeds he’d been clutching onto into a wheelbarrow and rubbing his hands together to shake off the dirt. “No, Crowley, it’s quite all right.” Crowley grinned. He’d got him calling him Crowley again. That was progress. Well, not _progress_ , exactly, but at least he seemed to have undone some inadvertent damage. “Would you like to see the garden?”

Crowley’s face lit up. When he had planned to spy on the business he hadn’t expected an opportunity like this. There was only so much he could learn just by looking around the shop without eliciting suspicion. But Aziraphale was so trusting, and would probably tell him _everything_. Crowley could see it now, Aziraphale’s features glowing as he talked about the plants they were growing and what they would be used for. Plenty of insider information to help out a competitor, most pharmaceuticals had their basis in nature, after all. Crowley could so easily take advantage of this opportunity, but found that all he wanted was to protect Aziraphale from... well, people who would take advantage of this opportunity. People like him. He swallowed down the lump in his throat.

“Perhaps another time, thank you. I must be going. Goodbye, Aziraphale.”

“Oh... Goodbye, Crowley.” Aziraphale frowned.

* * *

The next time they met at the garden wall, Aziraphale greeted him much more enthusiastically than he had the last time.

“Crowley! Good morning!”

“Good morning, Aziraphale!” Crowley called as he approached. “I won’t keep you long.”

“Oh, no, my dear, I assure you it’s quite all right.” _My dear_. That was new. Crowley drew in a deep, shuddering breath.

“I brought you something.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale was positively glowing, but something in his expression told Crowley that he wasn’t particularly used to receiving gifts, although with someone like Gabriel for a brother that hardly surprised him. Crowley proffered a tiny parcel towards Aziraphale, who wiped his muddy hands down the front of his gardening overalls, casting a curious glance at Crowley before taking the parcel and untying the string. “Seeds! What plant are they from?”

“Grow them and find out.”

“Something for the shop?”

“Something for you.”

“Oh... thank you.” A blush crept up Aziraphale’s cheeks and Crowley’s heart joined a marching band, practising its latest percussion piece between his chest and his throat. “I was just...” Aziraphale began, then drew in a deep breath and started again. “I mean, I do perhaps think it is time to take a break. Would you care for a cup of tea?”

The marching band worked up to its grand finale.

“That would be lovely.” Crowley’s voice squeaked a bit. Hopefully Aziraphale hadn’t noticed.

Aziraphale unlatched the garden gate and held it open for Crowley, who brushed past him much more closely than he needed to. Aziraphale didn’t react, much to Crowley’s disappointment, his own skin tingling everywhere their bodies had made contact. Aziraphale simply smiled and showed Crowley the way to the back door into the building.

“So, what do you do for a living?” Aziraphale asked as he busied himself filling the iron kettle and hanging it above the fire. _Shit, this could go badly._

“I’m... a scientist.”

“Really? How fascinating! It is a wonderful time for science, I do believe. I must admit I’m not one to get swept up in all of these newfangled ‘advancements’, but Gabriel does like to talk about them. He is extremely proud of his telephone.”

Crowley hummed his agreement as Aziraphale sat in the armchair just off to the side of him, positioned around a small table near the fire. “Yes, I got that impression. I’m surprised someone like him would want to work in an apothecary shop. Not meaning any offence but it is a somewhat traditional career choice.” _Traditional_ had seemed like the politest way to say it.

“Oh, I know. To be quite honest with you I don’t think he really enjoys it, but it was our father’s dying wish that we keep the business going. He didn’t quite trust all of these new advancements. He was afraid we were starting to move too far away from nature, that we could lose our connection to it. I do think I rather take after him. Do you know, they create medicines in _laboratories_ now?” Aziraphale flinched and scrunched up his face. “My apologies, of course you do, you’re a scientist. I must sound terribly old fashioned to you.”

“Not at all, angel.” He let the pet name slip again, surprised to see it earned him a smile from Aziraphale. “Some people don’t like the idea of putting something artificial in their bodies, I can understand that.”

_Oh, this is bad._

“Yes, well, Gabriel isn’t one of those people. And I do fear there aren’t enough of those people left to keep us in business.” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Gabriel’s been talking about giving up the shop!” he blurted out as if he’d been dying to have someone to talk to about this.

Crowley straightened up in his chair and leaned forward. He couldn’t help it, there was still that part of him that was a businessman, and this was exactly the kind of information he needed. How could Aziraphale just share this with him, knowing so little about him? How could he be so trusting? _He’s so clever! How can someone so clever be so stupid?_

“Although I don’t mind saying it would absolutely break my heart to do so,” Aziraphale continued. “My father’s wishes... and I would lose my garden! I’m not even sure what else I could do for a living. This has been my entire life.” He folded his hands, gazed down into his lap and sighed. “But I’m sure Gabriel doesn’t mean it. We could never give up this place.”

_Oh, this is_ really _bad._

“Well, if Gabriel has an interest in the new developments could you perhaps offer both? Something to please everyone?”

And completely derail his own plans... _Good Lord, Crowley, what are you playing at?_

“Oh, I wouldn’t know what I was doing! Gabriel would certainly become too frustrated and replace me. The shop was left to _him_ , remember. And who could blame him? Look at me, can you picture me inside a modern pharmacy?”

(There was no part of Crowley’s mind that thought ‘ _I can picture you inside a modern pharmac ist’_, because that would have been entirely inappropriate.)

Aziraphale shook his head and took another deep, steadying breath, apparently no longer wishing to think about such things. “So, you’re a scientist! Do _you_ have a laboratory?”

“Nhh, well... yes, actually, I do.” Aziraphale beamed at him then, and Crowley was so grateful to see steam rising from the spout of the kettle above the fire, distracting Aziraphale’s gaze from the inane grin on his face, so easily elicited as a consequence of being the object of Aziraphale’s attention.

Aziraphale poured them both a cup of tea and settled back down into his comfortable armchair, delicately fixing a tartan tea cosy over the pot, now set on the table between them. This should have been the point at which Crowley made an effort to change the subject, wanting to avoid dangerous questions about what Crowley actually did in his laboratory, but his mind had gone blank. Fortunately, while making the tea, Aziraphale seemed to have forgotten what they’d been talking about.

“Are you still using the lavender oil?”

“Every night,” Crowley replied. It wasn’t a lie. The oil was remarkably calming. In some ways. In other ways it reminded him of the glorious creature currently sat to the side of him, so close that their knees were almost touching, and the effect of those thoughts could hardly be characterised as _relaxing_. Crowley leaned forward to place his tea cup on the table, seizing his opportunity and brushing their knees lightly against each other. Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and Crowley was feeling courageous.

“I’ve been putting a drop of it here,” Crowley continued, slowly stroking his finger across his collarbone, unfortunately covered by three layers of fabric. “It seems to help.”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale licked his lips and took another sip of his tea, his eyes not leaving Crowley, and that delightful blush creeping over his cheeks once more.

“You could sell it as massage oil.”

Aziraphale choked on his tea and started coughing. Crowley bit down on his lower lip, watching the flustered man beside him with amusement. The sensations in his abdomen today were more like a snake that had set fire to itself and begun weaving its way around his organs, or an army of tiny soldiers doing a parade. Oh, and the soldiers had had enough of their home base in his stomach and had sent out an advanced party to reconnoitre his groin region. So far, they seemed satisfied with what they’d discovered and were now calling for reinforcements to begin setting up a new, permanent base down there where they would begin weapons drills immediately. _CROWLEY. Stop this. That doesn’t even make sense._

Once Aziraphale had composed himself he replied, “I’m not sure I could produce enough of it to use so liberally.”

“Hmm. Too bad,” Crowley smiled, compelling the abdominal soldiers to order, picking up his tea cup and taking it to his lips, still keeping his eyes locked on Aziraphale. Aziraphale put his tea cup back on the table, using the movement as ineffectual cover to disguise a slight rotation of his body, moving his legs further away from Crowley so there would be no additional opportunities to casually brush their knees together. One of the soliders fired an errant shot upwards, and it struck through Crowley’s heart, which crashed down and crushed a whole platoon in his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks again to everyone reading this and especially for your kudos/comments. :-) I haven't left the house at all for 5 months now and I think I needed a creative outlet!


	4. Techniques to initiate physical contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale takes Crowley on a tour of the apothecary garden.

Had Aziraphale learnt Crowley’s routine, or had Crowley learnt Aziraphale’s? It didn’t really matter, but somehow each morning, no matter the weather, when Crowley walked down the alley behind the apothecary shop, Aziraphale was out tending the garden. Perhaps the time of year simply called for it. _It must be a lot of work to maintain that garden_ , Crowley thought. He didn’t quite know what to do with his other theory, that Aziraphale was intentionally making the effort to see him as often as possible. Best not to entertain thoughts like that at all, they wouldn’t lead him anywhere even remotely helpful.

Each morning Crowley stopped, leaned on the garden wall and waited for Aziraphale to notice him. They would then share pleasant conversation and the occasional cup of tea, sometimes even a cake or pastry that Crowley had picked up on his way. For the duration of each encounter, Crowley would stare into those gorgeous eyes (which he’d decided were like a magnificent thunderstorm that enraptures you so completely that you don’t realise you’re actually in danger until it’s much too late) and wonder how his life had descended to this, and how he would ever get out of this ridiculous situation _. Which you willingly got yourself into, you idiot._

Although, in fairness, Crowley didn’t spend _all_ of his time stalking, staring at and pining for Aziraphale. More often than not he could be found in his laboratory in the hospital, working on the development of new medicines. He had discovered a type of worm that he was able to cut into as many as thirty pieces without killing it, finding two weeks later that he now had thirty perfectly intact worms. If he chopped the head off one of them, it completely grew back by the following day. If he could isolate a chemical from the worm that could regenerate tissue so successfully, he’d be a millionaire. _And he could abandon his plans to open a pharmacy and give the money to Aziraphale to keep his shop and garden_ , a little voice spoke up at the back of his mind.

He wanted more than anything to invite Aziraphale to his laboratory, to show him his little slimy worms and see if they would be enough for Crowley to earn one of those pure, delighted smiles that reached right up to his captivating, danger-concealing eyes.

The next time Crowley walked down the alley to meet Aziraphale, the sun was actually shining brightly and even at this early hour the air was uncomfortably warm. That said, feeling uncomfortably warm in Aziraphale’s presence was hardly anything new for Crowley to endure.

Crowley had rolled up his shirtsleeves, and when he reached the garden wall and peered over, he was thrilled to see that Aziraphale had done the same, treating him to a view of his muscular forearms. Because that’s just what Crowley needed. Obviously.

“Ngghh,” he blurted out, fortunately at too great a distance for Aziraphale to hear, but it wasn’t long before Aziraphale did glance up, and he headed straight over to the wall to meet his friend.

“Glorious day, isn’t it, Crowley? Didn’t I tell you there would be sunshine?” he beamed.

“It’s _one day_ , angel. I’m still not convinced about three weeks.” Aziraphale shook his head and scowled, but didn’t manage to fully eliminate the playful smile on his lips.

“Since it is such a lovely day, how about that tour of the garden I promised you?”

Crowley couldn’t allow himself to be the one to steal that innocent hopefulness from Aziraphale’s eyes by refusing him. Crowley’s first impression of Aziraphale being open and honest had remained true, and he seemed to be making no effort to hide the fact that he enjoyed spending time with Crowley.

There had been one or two moments when Aziraphale’s flustered response to his flirting had left Crowley wondering whether he might actually feel something more than the enjoyment of spending time with a friend. But then again, it was much more likely that he was flustered because the flirting made him feel uncomfortable. He may even have found it completely inappropriate, and simply been too polite to say. As much as Crowley wanted to believe otherwise, he couldn’t deny that that was almost certainly the case, and it made him consider toning it down. At first he had enjoyed eliciting a reaction, but the more he had got to know about his angel (ridiculous, but he was allowing himself to think of Aziraphale that way), the more he wanted to save him from experiencing any discomfort.

“That would be wonderful,” Crowley replied politely. Aziraphale wiggled excitedly as he walked over to open the gate, Crowley aiming for more of a casual saunter and respecting Aziraphale’s personal space this time as he passed through the gate. He could tell already how proud Aziraphale was of the garden, and Crowley was impressed with what he’d seen of it so far. This was going to be fun.

Aziraphale took very well to the role of tour guide, and Crowley could have listened to him talking about the plants and the medicines he created from them all day. His voice was so soothing, so pure and innocent, and he was so easily delighted. Crowley could feel how much he loved this place, it was as though Aziraphale’s love enveloped the whole garden.

“It is incredible isn’t it, that all of this can spring from nothing but soil? It’s miraculous! We plant the seeds and the soil gives us the cures for all ailments, the answers to all of our prayers. It’s like magic,” Aziraphale beamed.

As they made their way around the garden, Aziraphale often paused to direct Crowley to be careful to avoid a dip in the ground, an uneven paving stone, or a plant with thorns or stings. Crowley was seriously tempted to throw himself ‘accidentally’ into a patch of stinging nettles to incite Aziraphale into caring for him. Chances were though that he would just fetch some kind of ointment and tell Crowley to apply it to himself. (He was still bitter that his trick hadn’t worked with the lavender oil).

As Crowley was having these thoughts, and Aziraphale was discussing the use of common mallow for treating respiratory infections (beyond the stinging nettles now, the chance to dive into them had passed), a bumblebee landed on Crowley’s arm. _Really_? he asked internally with a glance skyward, wondering if the bee would in fact sting him. It sat still for some time, showing no indication that it intended to fly away, and then began crawling up towards his elbow, becoming trapped in his crumpled shirtsleeves. _And we all know what happens when a bee feels trapped_...

“Arrgghh! Nghh!” Crowley shouted, frantically trying to lift up the material enough to release the bee. It flew away, apparently unharmed. Crowley cast another suspicious gaze towards the heavens. _Right. Really. Thank you. Thank you so very bloody much! Aren’t bees supposed to at least have the courtesy to_ die _after they sting you?_ He only had himself to blame though. _Who lets a bumblebee climb up their arm?_

“Oh my goodness, Crowley! Are you all right?” His arm was still flailing about a bit. Oh well, at least this would settle how Aziraphale would respond if he were injured. Well, hardly _injured_ , but he could play it up a bit. It did actually hurt quite a lot.

“A bee just stung me!” Crowley pushed his sleeve up as far as he could, revealing a red mark already forming in the crease of his elbow.

“Oh dear, is she all right?”

“ _She’s_ fine!”

Aziraphale grinned and licked his lips, turning his head away to try to hide it. Maybe he wasn’t completely angelic after all. Maybe he was actually a bit of a bastard. Crowley could work with that. Aziraphale disappeared amongst the plants and came back moments later brandishing a thick, round leaf marked by prominent veins. “Plantain. This will ease the pain and reduce the swelling.”

Crowley wasn’t used to medical treatments coming in the form of an entire leaf, and was about to ask _what am I supposed to do with_ that _?_ when Aziraphale seized his arm and began stroking the leaf rhythmically over the sting, eliciting a further string of consonants from Crowley (this time more like his face smashed into the typewriter and then rolled around on it), which hopefully appeared to Aziraphale to be nothing more than an expression of pain.

But if he _was_ still in pain, Crowley was no longer aware of it. His skin was tingling, starting where Aziraphale gently cradled his arm with one hand and spreading through his body like tendrils reaching into every crevice (including the new army base of the deep south, which had just become fully operational), but particularly to the patch of skin to which Aziraphale was tending. Crowley watched, enraptured, as Aziraphale tenderly but firmly pressed the leaf into his flesh, working his way up and down, and imagined those fingers doing other things in a similar tender but firm manner. _Oh, for God’s sake, Crowley!_

The soldiers living inside of him no longer responded to any orders. They’d gone rogue, doing whatever the hell they wanted. They were firing their tiny little weapons and running madly all over the place, marching over his stomach, shooting at his heart, setting fire to his skin. But in celebration, not war. It was agony, but it was glorious, and he loved every second of it. Crowley was torn between _never_ wanting what Aziraphale was doing to end, and _desperately_ wanting it to end, so he could retreat and give due consideration to these sensations in the privacy of his own home. He glanced up to the heavens again, and smirked as he sent out a prayer of equal parts gratitude and cursing.

When Crowley forced his attention away from the part of his body that was most demanding it (the aforementioned base of the deep south) and back to his arm, he realised that the stinging had stopped. He grinned, and Aziraphale smiled proudly back at him.

“That’s incredible. It’s just a leaf! The pain has gone completely! That’s...” Crowley began, but ended up just shaking his head. “Thank you.” Aziraphale threw the remnants of the leaf into one of flower beds and brushed some green residue from Crowley’s skin with the pad of his thumb. Crowley suppressed the string of consonants this time and fought hard to bring the army of soldiers back under his command. _Party’s over, gentlemen. Back to your barracks or I swear to God..._

“Shall we continue?” _Right, concentrate! Stop talking to yourself. It’s not normal. And drop the weird metaphors. It’s just nerves and blood all rushing to one particular place because you were stupid enough to..._

Aziraphale tilted his head, awaiting a response.

“Please,” Crowley mumbled.

They headed deeper into the garden, Aziraphale still animatedly describing every plant, giving away every secret – which varieties were most potent, where they had sourced them, how to preserve them... Crowley’s heart was breaking just listening to him. Then Aziraphale came to a sudden halt on the narrow path they had been treading, Crowley nearly crashing into the back of him. He cursed himself afterwards for the missed opportunity to innocently press his body up against Aziraphale. _Is it really possible to do something like that innocently?_

“Ah, excuse me, brother snail,” Aziraphale joked, crouching down and scooping up a snail from the path. “You don’t want to get trodden on now, do you? Off you go, into the cabbages.” They had reached the very bottom corner of the garden, which seemed to be an area more for growing food than medicine. Crowley recognised the chrysanthemum plants tucked away right in the corner; Aziraphale had evidently planted the seeds he’d given him, which he’d saved from his prize-winning red variety. Crowley didn’t mind that he’d chosen to tuck them away in a corner, it meant they were like his own little secret. Crowley hadn’t meant for anyone else to enjoy them anyway.

Aziraphale gently placed the snail on top of one of the cabbages, and Crowley couldn’t help but recoil. “You do know brother snail’s going to have a feast in there?” Crowley groaned. The holes he could picture forming in the leaves as the snail munched its way through the cabbages made him shudder.

“There’s plenty for all of us, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied with a soft smile, and this (to hell with it, the metaphors made him feel better... they were as ridiculous as he was) felt like someone had inflated a massive hot air balloon in his chest and it had just popped under the strain, dumping its occupants into the pit of his stomach and leaving him with a lingering pressure against his ribs. That’s when Crowley made his decision. He absolutely couldn’t do it. There was no way he could take this angel away from his Garden of Eden. He was going to have to come up with something.

“Well, this has been lovely but I’m afraid I must be getting on,” Crowley announced.

“Oh... yes, of course. Please do call again. Any time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The worms Crowley has been experimenting with are flatworms (Planaria). Someone once cut one into 279 pieces and it still didn't die, but the regeneration was a bit off.


	5. A two person job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale "needs" Crowley's help with something. Crowley is more than happy to oblige, and one of his wishes finally comes true.

Crowley had dealt with it immediately. He had visited Hastur’s office, mentioned a new long term plan (withholding the specifics), and offered to start topping up the rent paid by the current occupants of the shop, a retainer of sorts, to ensure Hastur wouldn’t make a deal with anyone else while Crowley worked out the rest of the details.

Crowley had been on to something before, he realised. There was no reason why people had to choose between entirely natural and entirely synthetic medicines. People should have as many choices as possible, all under one roof. Crowley’s long term plan now involved convincing Aziraphale, and Gabriel if that’s what took, to accept his investment and go into business with him.

Relieved that Hastur had agreed not to offer the property to anyone other than him, Crowley felt much lighter as he approached Aziraphale’s garden the next day. The sun was still shining. It had been two whole days now, it was almost a miracle.

“Ah, Crowley! Would you like to come in for some tea?” Crowley was surprised Aziraphale would want to head straight inside on such a sunny day, but readily agreed regardless. “Oh! Before I forget...” Aziraphale scooped up a plant in a terracotta pot. It was one of the chrysanthemums that Crowley had spotted yesterday. “Thank you again for the seeds, the plants are coming along so well! I thought you would like to have one? A decoration for your laboratory, perhaps?” he chuckled.

Crowley couldn’t help but wonder whether Aziraphale was as well versed in flower language as he was. The plants weren’t flowering yet, but surely someone as botanically knowledgeable as Aziraphale would recognise chrysanthemums from their leaves, although he wouldn’t yet know their colour.

“It’s lovely, thank you, angel.”

Aziraphale beamed. “I’ll leave it by the gate; you can pick it up on your way out.” Aziraphale placed the plant back down and headed towards the building with Crowley following along behind him.

When they stepped into the back room the fire wasn’t lit, after all, it certainly wasn’t needed for warmth, so Aziraphale popped into the kitchen to set the kettle on the stove. When he returned to the back room he was fidgeting with his collar as he sat down beside Crowley around the small table.

“Are you all right, angel?”

“Ah, well... I’m afraid I spent rather too long outdoors yesterday. I hadn’t expected this weather to last, it felt like too good an opportunity to squander. I managed to get so much work done in the garden! But... well, I’m afraid I managed to get rather sunburnt.”

“Let me see,” Crowley said without thinking (too much thinking was becoming a problem, and never a man to do things by halves, he was now opting for not thinking at all, but wasn’t entirely convinced it would work out any better). He rose from his chair to get a proper look as Aziraphale tugged his collar back, revealing a bright red patch of skin across the back of his neck. Crowley sucked in a sympathetic breath and leaned forward to inspect the damage more closely. He could even see a little of Aziraphale’s upper back, pale and sharply contrasting with the burn on his neck, and it looked so, so, soft. If Crowley _had_ been thinking, he’d now only be thinking about how much he wanted to run his hands up and down that back, how soft it would be, and maybe how it would feel to dig his fingernails into it. So, probably best that he wasn’t thinking after all.

“You must have something for that?”

“Well, yes, but my shirt gets in the way. I don’t have enough hands,” he laughed. Crowley studied him suspiciously for a moment and then his eyes widened as the realisation flooded over him.

_This is MY technique! This is my throw-myself-in-the-nettles-and-let-a-bee-sting-me technique! That bastard! At least that bee CHOSE to sting me, and I didn’t ASK him to rub that leaf on me!_

“You know, to hold the fabric out of the way, and to extract the gel from the plant, and to rub it in,” Aziraphale elaborated.

_OH YOU BLOODY BASTARD, AZIRAPHALE. YOU GLORIOUS, ADORABLE BASTARD._ Crowley couldn’t even think of a weird metaphor for how it felt to have Aziraphale so innocently deploy this technique on him. It just felt brilliant. Bloody brilliant. And he was more than willing to play along.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Crowley responded, his sincerity unconvincing. ‘Of course’, _except_ one would put the gel on one’s fingers, then put down the plant, then hold the shirt away with one hand while applying the gel with the other. Obviously. This was easily a one person job.

_He actually wants me to touch him._

It was time to re-engage at least _one_ brain cell, and with it, Crowley welcomed the hive of bees back to his stomach. They were joined by millipedes that crawled through his veins, aphids that danced along his skin, and some kind of hideous creature new to science that sucked all the moisture from his mouth.

“Well, I could help you,” Crowley shrugged with feigned nonchalance.

“Oh, would you? Thank you, my dear!” Aziraphale stood abruptly and scuttled off like a happy beetle, presumably to fetch whatever it was he wanted Crowley to apply to his skin. Crowley flopped back down into his armchair and threw his head back against the plump cushion, exhaling a very long breath and then collapsing forward and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. _This is_ my _technique_ , he grumped to himself again.

Aziraphale returned a few minutes later and settled back into his armchair, placing the tea tray on the table between them. As well as the tea pot, cups, saucers and milk jug, there was a small plant pot containing a succulent that Crowley recognised as aloe vera.

Crowley pressed down hard on the armrests and pushed himself back up from his armchair, positioning himself behind Aziraphale. He’d decided it was best for both of them if Aziraphale couldn’t see his face during this. He breathed out another long, slow breath as quietly as he could.

Crowley had a well of strength and composure deep inside him, and he’d been making regular demands on it every time he was with Aziraphale. Right now he was drawing right from the bottom of it, the pail dragging and clunking against the stone at the bottom of the well, the chains at the very end of their reach, and those last few arsenic-contaminated, poisonous drops were going to be drawn to the surface to allow him to get through this without doing or saying the wrong thing.

“Oh, I just remembered,” Aziraphale began, picking up the plant pot and balancing it on his lap. “If you’re still looking for something to treat a rapid heartbeat, I’ve heard of something new. Magnesium citrate. I’m afraid we don’t have any here, but perhaps you could find some from a chemist.”

Magnesium citrate was familiar to Crowley. A synthetic substance. He wondered how Aziraphale had come across it, and even wondered if he’d been reading about pharmaceuticals to try to impress him. Aziraphale didn’t know he was a pharmacist, but he did know he was a scientist. This thought didn’t give Crowley any pleasure at all. He didn’t want Aziraphale to ‘move with the times’. He wanted him to stay the same forever, just the way he was. _Oh, Crowley..._

As if sensing (some of) his thoughts, Aziraphale added, “I’ve been doing some reading. I’ve realised I can’t allow myself to be completely left behind.”

_No. Stay behind. I’ll come back for you. We can stop wherever you want. I’ll stay with you._

Aziraphale broke off part of the plant and held it up over his shoulder for Crowley to take, placing the pot containing the remainder of the plant back on the table. “Aloe vera,” he stated, obviously not expecting Crowley to recognise it. “Simply squeeze the gel from the middle.”

Somewhere in Crowley’s mind a decision was made not to comment on Aziraphale’s suggestion of the new, chemical medicine at all. Instead, he channelled all of his focus into the task at hand. To maintain the illusion that this really was a two person job, Crowley suggested that Aziraphale hold his collar out of the way, while he would extract the gel and apply it. The temptation was there (and it had somehow acquired a megaphone) to ask Aziraphale to remove his shirt ( _pause one moment just to visualise that... and...... done_ ) but Crowley realised that would absolutely render this a one person job, which would render _him_ superfluous (amongst other things). _Seeing Aziraphale shirtless or actually getting to touch him, hmm... Oh, shut up._

Crowley bit down hard on his lip as he covered his fingertips with the gel and mentally prepared himself for something he’d wanted to do since the first time Aziraphale had smiled at him. He was actually going to touch him, and he was going to make the most of it and commit every detail of how it felt to memory. You know, for later. Privacy of his own home stuff.

He still couldn’t believe Aziraphale had used his trick against him. Well, not _his_ trick, honestly it must have been the oldest trick in the book (Crowley didn’t read a lot, but _that_ book he would certainly have got his hands on). It meant that Aziraphale surely knew that Crowley knew what he was doing. It also meant that Aziraphale had recognised Crowley’s own attempts to get Aziraphale to touch him - the lavender oil, and when he let that bee sting him. Is that why he’d rubbed the plantain leaf on the sting himself, rather than giving it to Crowley?

Aziraphale wanting Crowley to touch him was one thing, but wanting Crowley to know that he wanted him to touch him was so tantalising he was actually salivating (and would have to be careful not to drool on Aziraphale’s neck. Hot saliva doesn’t feel like cool aloe vera gel, there is no successful cover story).

The single operational brain cell sparked and drew Crowley’s attention to how long he’d been stood there like an idiot, with aloe vera gel on his fingers but not actually doing anything with it. Aziraphale didn’t say or do anything, he was waiting quite patiently, holding his collar out of the way. Hopefully his patience wasn’t born of knowing what was going on inside Crowley’s head.

Aziraphale had tilted his head slightly forward, exposing more of his neck. His light blond curls overlapped slightly with the red patch of skin, and this was an opportunity Crowley couldn’t ignore.

Crowley was tempted to put the chunk of aloe vera down to use both hands for what he had planned, but was again halted by needing to keep up appearances of a two person job. So instead, he used the back of his hand to gently brush the hair at Aziraphale’s nape out of the way, holding it back while he let his fingertips sink down on to Aziraphale’s skin to apply the gel. Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath, and Crowley bit down hard on his lip.

Crowley delicately ran his fingertips over the red patch of skin, then when he was satisfied it was covered with gel, he pressed the length of his fingers against it with a little more pressure, eliciting a moan from Aziraphale.

“That feels good?” Crowley murmured, encouraged by the fact that _Aziraphale_ had actually initiated this. He was close enough to see Aziraphale’s shoulders tense.

“Oh... um... yes... very... soothing. Cooling.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “On the burn.” Crowley leaned in further, so his lips were much too close to Aziraphale’s ear.

“I’m glad it feels good, angel.” He was close enough to look over Aziraphale’s shoulder, and caught the goosepimples spreading over his exposed forearms. Crowley’s deep south base soldiers began loading their ultimate weapon (a rather sizeable cannon). He shifted uncomfortably, grateful to be standing behind Aziraphale, and grinned.

He leaned back a little and began tenderly stroking his fingers back and fore over Aziraphale’s neck again (ever so softly, he wouldn’t want to aggravate the burn, of course), squeezing more gel from the plant and applying more than was probably needed, eliciting contented sighs from Aziraphale. Crowley slipped his fingers a little lower (below the burn if he was being completely honest), trailing his fingertips up and down the top of Aziraphale’s spine, which earned him another soft moan. The soldiers started hoisting the cannon up into firing position.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, no, no, it’s quite all right.” Aziraphale was breathless. “Please continue.”

Finding more confidence from Aziraphale’s responses, Crowley moved his hand from the back of Aziraphale’s neck and placed his fingertips just below his ear, smoothing a little gel on to the skin there. He both saw and felt the tension that spread through Aziraphale’s muscles.

“You’re burnt here, too.”

“Oh no, really?” Aziraphale sighed. Crowley was lying. Well, it was probably, _possibly_ a lie, and Aziraphale probably, _certainly_ knew that. The skin below Aziraphale’s ear was indeed flushed pink, but Crowley was rather certain it hadn’t been moments ago. Crowley stepped around, positioning himself in front of Aziraphale and inspecting his face closely. Aziraphale seemed to have finally realised that he could release his collar, and started wringing his hands together in his lap.

“And here.” Crowley used one hand to brush the delicate curls away from Aziraphale’s forehead (ohhh how were they even softer than he’d imagined?) and the other to both extract some more gel from the aloe vera and to tenderly apply it along Aziraphale’s hairline. So, after all that, it was indeed confirmed to be a one person job, but Crowley was so far past caring about that pretence. He leaned in, much closer than he needed to, fixing his eyes with Aziraphale’s as he worked, amazed that the other man chose not to look away, his eyes locked on Crowley’s as if mesmerised.

“You’ll have to be more careful today,” Crowley warned, affectionately carding his fingers through those curls under the pretence of smoothing them back into position. Aziraphale sighed and his eyes fluttered closed, only for a moment, but long enough for him to be visibly startled when he opened them to find Crowley had leant in even closer (searching for more sunburn, of course). Aziraphale chuckled nervously, wringing his hands together more fiercely.

“I will be. I’ll stay inside.”

“Glad to hear it.” (Those words spoken aloud sounded nothing like the words in Crowley’s mind, which were more along the lines of ‘ _or, you could strip off completely, get burnt all over and I’ll be more than happy to rub aloe vera gel over every inch of your body’_ ). “Is there anything else I can help you with?” he drawled, straightening up and stepping a few paces back, the tension in Aziraphale’s shoulders retreating as quickly as it had advanced.

There was no immediate response, which suggested to Crowley that Aziraphale might be considering one rather than intending to simply decline his offer, and, with the thoughts of what else he might ask him to do, Crowley’s intestines turned into marshmallows. “Anything you want. I mean it, angel. Anything.” _I’ve already turned my business plans completely upside down for you_.

Crowley reached out and skimmed his fingernails lightly up and down Aziraphale’s bare forearm. Aziraphale’s eyes followed the movement of Crowley’s hand for a moment, then he snatched his arm away, drawing it in tightly across his body.

“You go too fast for me, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, his head turned away.

So much happened inside Crowley then, all at once. The cannon was promptly lowered. Deep south base was abandoned completely. The soldiers scattered, trying to escape bombs that were being detonated all over the place. One hit Crowley’s heart and shattered it into pieces. Another hit the bee hive, the bees dispersing frenetically throughout his chest. The butter churn was cranked as agonisingly slowly yet forcefully as possible. The snake had found its way to his neck, and began tightening its burning coils around his throat.

_This is all my fault_. Aziraphale had taken a step to meet him and he had pushed too far too fast and scared him away.

“Right. Of course, no, I understand. Of course I do. Really, angel,” he spluttered, taking a breath to compose himself. “But I’ll be here... I’ll slow down. I’ll stop completely! And I’ll be here. I’ll be here if you catch up with me, if you ever want to. Anything you want.” Aziraphale had turned to face him, so Crowley delivered his ineloquent speech staring right into those beautiful, now glistening, eyes. “Take care, angel.” And with that, Crowley turned to head back out into the garden to take his leave, head home, and torture himself for the foreseeable future.

“Wait! You can’t leave, Crowley!” He spun back around and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t want you to go. Please, just...” Aziraphale stood and crossed the room to join him, reaching out and tentatively hovering a hand just above Crowley’s hip. Crowley’s eyes widened.

“Do it,” Crowley growled. Aziraphale’s head shot up from where he was staring at his own hand to look Crowley in the eye. “I want you, angel. _Please_.”


	6. The shed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gives into temptation.

Aziraphale returned his attention to his own hand just beside Crowley’s hip, watching it like it was a dangerous animal that could strike at any moment. Oh, how Crowley wished it would. Apparently Crowley wasn’t the only one who could be incapacitated by too much thinking.

“Please, angel. It’s all right.” Crowley tried shifting his body slightly to bring his hip closer to Aziraphale’s hovering hand, but this only served to startle him into stepping back, bringing his hand up to cover his face. “I’m sorry, Aziraphale, I didn’t mean to...”

Aziraphale raised his palm and cast his eyes down to the floor, drawing in a deep breath. _Right, slow down. Stop. Give him time._

Crowley forced himself to remain still and quiet, the cogs turning so fiercely in Aziraphale’s mind that Crowley could almost hear them grinding against each other. _Grinding against each other? Yes, that’s exactly the kind of thoughts to be having right now. Well done, Crowley_ , he cursed himself.

Eventually, Aziraphale drew in another deep breath and took two slow steps closer to Crowley, like he was approaching an animal that might startle and run. _I’m not going anywhere, angel_ , Crowley reassured silently. Aziraphale raised his hand again, but this time the movement was more confident, his fingers finding their way into Crowley’s hair, brushing the long, red curls back away from his face. Aziraphale spread his fingers and carded them through Crowley’s hair, an uneasy chuckle escaping him as he did so. Aziraphale rolled back his shoulders, straightening his body, and took his final step closer, their faces now perhaps an inch apart.

Crowley had been focusing so much on not moving or speaking that he realised that not responding to what Aziraphale was doing _at all_ could potentially be a bit creepy. He offered Aziraphale a small smile of encouragement. _Please don’t stop, angel. Everything’s all right. Please._

Aziraphale tilted his head and brought his lips as close to Crowley’s as he possibly could without actually touching them, and then he paused. Aziraphale held them there in that moment, their last chance to stop this now, to not take things any further, to not create all manner of problems for both of them. Crowley could so easily have leaned forward and captured his mouth in a kiss that would make him never again question that this was what he wanted (or so Crowley hoped to believe), but he sucked out those very last drops of strength and restraint from his now depleted well and endured the exquisite agony of the near-kiss. His skin pulsed with Aziraphale’s proximity and he could feel his breath on his face. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked on and provided the only reminder of the passage of time.

Somewhere nearby a door opened and closed, and Crowley could hear footsteps approaching the back room.

“Gabriel...” Aziraphale whispered, leaning away from Crowley. “Shed.”

“Wha--?”

Crowley didn’t get chance to ask what he meant, as Aziraphale decisively grabbed his wrist and retreated back into the garden, dragging Crowley along with him. Crowley obediently followed, focusing on the sensation of those strong fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist, and because apparently he enjoyed torturing himself, imagining them wrapped around something else. _Nggghhh._

Aziraphale led him to the tiny tool shed in the corner of the garden, flinging the door open and releasing Crowley’s wrist to free up his hands to give him a little shove inside. The door clattered shut behind them.

“Couldn’t swing a dead cat around in here,” Crowley observed.

“Why would you want to?”

“I...um...ngh...” Crowley shrugged.

Aziraphale bit down on his lower lip and reached up to grab Crowley by the lapels of his shirt, slamming him back against the wooden shelves, which shook under the force of it, a small jar of plant markers falling from its precarious position amongst the clutter and scattering its contents all over the floor. But Crowley barely noticed, as Aziraphale finally closed the distance between them, pressing the entire length of his body against Crowley as he kissed him.

There would be no more distracting himself with ridiculous metaphors. All Crowley wanted was to focus on the glorious sensations coursing through his body. Aziraphale was perfection incarnate. The way his soft body cushioned Crowley’s front as various sharp objects spiked uncomfortably into his back from the shelves behind. The way their lips slotted perfectly together. The tingling in Crowley’s scalp as Aziraphale’s fingers glided through his hair. The heat on his neck as Aziraphale moved his mouth lower, nuzzling at him and kissing his throat. It was heaven.

Aziraphale pressed himself even closer to Crowley, grinding his hips against him and forcing Crowley even further back against the shelves.

“Fuck!” Crowley’s body jolted and he reached behind him, extracting a small gardening fork, the handle of which had undoubtedly bruised his back, glaring at it as he threw it on to the floor. Aziraphale chuckled sheepishly. “Not the hard length I wanted pressing into my back, angel!” Crowley laughed, then caught himself, afraid he’d overstepped and taken things too far. Aziraphale stepped away from him, narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists, silent but for his short, shallow breaths. “Sorry, Aziraphale, I was just...”

Aziraphale reached out for him, using his superior strength to effortlessly flip Crowley so that his front was now pressed into the shelving, bringing Crowley face-to-face with half-used tins of paint, mud-encrusted terracotta pots, a ball of string and a pair of scissors. Crowley thankfully still had the wherewithal to turn his face away from the sharp blades of the scissors, not wanting to lose an eye, but beyond that, all logical thought had well and truly abandoned him. Aziraphale taking charge of the situation did things to Crowley that would have left him unable to stand if he didn’t have the shelves to lean into.

Aziraphale pressed himself up hard against Crowley’s back, grabbing at his hip with one hand to pull himself (somehow) even closer, and using the other to forcefully tug Crowley’s shirt from his trousers, sliding his palm up his chest, his thumb and forefinger finding one of Crowley’s nipples. Crowley’s head flopped down on to the shelf in front of him, knocking over one of the plant pots that rolled from side to side but managed to settle without falling. Aziraphale growled and ground his hips hard against Crowley.

“Is this more what you were hoping for, my dear?” he teased, close to Crowley’s ear. He must have been standing on tip-toes to achieve that, and for some unfathomable reason Crowley found that intensely hot. He moaned loudly and Aziraphale laughed. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“You bastard... angel. Yes! S’good. You feel _incredible_! But I want... I want to see you,” Crowley panted.

Aziraphale stepped back, and Crowley lifted his head and pushed his hands against the shelves, using them as leverage to turn his trembling body around. He let the shelves completely take his weight, the ball of string now unravelling and finding its way to the floor. Then they stood there for a moment, both catching their breath and looking into each other’s eyes.

“I don’t want this,” Aziraphale murmured, and Crowley’s stomach lurched. “No! In a _shed_ , I mean. We shouldn’t have to... I wish things were different. Gabriel would never understand. No one would.” Crowley swallowed hard. He felt like he was going to be sick.

“Do you want me to go?”

“That would probably be for the best, yes.” Crowley nodded and smoothed down the front of his shirt, tucking it neatly back into his trousers. “I’m so sorry, Crowley. I shouldn’t have...”

Crowley shook his head and brought his hand up to run the back of his fingers across Aziraphale’s cheek. “Yes, you should have. It’s all right, angel. I understand. Everything’s fine. I told you, anything you want. Anything you need.” A tear escaped Aziraphale’s eye and coated Crowley’s fingertips, and Crowley leaned in to kiss him one last time before withdrawing his hand and wrapping it around the door handle. “Stay out of the sun today, angel.”

“I will.”

“Maybe tidy up in here,” he suggested with a hollow smile. Holding on to the door handle to keep him steady, he bent down to pick up the ball of string with his other hand, offering it to Aziraphale who took it and clutched it to his stomach. Aziraphale smiled and nodded, but his eyes were still glossy with tears.

“I will,” he repeated blankly.

“Goodbye, Aziraphale.”

“Goodbye, Crowley.”

Crowley stepped out of the shed, gently closing the door behind him. He focused only on putting one foot in front of the other, heading back to the garden gate and scooping up the pot containing the chrysanthemum, more sure now that Aziraphale knew exactly what the gesture meant in flower language when he’d given it to him.

As soon as he got home, Crowley raced upstairs, stripped off his shirt, flung himself face down on to his bed and groaned. He knew a time might come when he could recall the events of today with something akin to fondness and excitement, but for now he ached all the way from his heart to his stomach.

“It’s all right. It’ll be all right,” he tried to comfort himself, rolling on to his back. All he wanted was to give Aziraphale what _he_ wanted. If he couldn’t show him how much he cared for him by holding him and kissing him that didn’t matter, he knew there were other ways to try to make him happy.

Crowley had already secured the immediate future of the apothecary shop by secretly paying Hastur the additional rent on the property, and if it wouldn’t be an option for him to go into business with Aziraphale, perhaps he could teach Gabriel about pharmaceuticals, he could even teach Aziraphale if he decided that’s what he wanted. He could share some of the medicines he had created with them so that they could sell them in the shop, under the condition that Gabriel guaranteed Aziraphale’s permanent employment there. Not that he was really concerned about that, he knew Aziraphale would be much more proficient at dealing with pharmaceuticals than he’d given himself credit for.

He decided to wait a few days for the dust to settle, then go and speak to them and offer his help. He would approach Aziraphale as if nothing had happened, let him see that he was willing to forget the whole thing, that nothing needed to change and he wasn’t going to push him. Crowley forced himself to smile.

“It’ll be all right. He’ll be all right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. It's downhill from here for a while now too but please stick with it, they'll get their happy ending eventually. <3


	7. Fraternising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale overhears a telephone conversation between Gabriel and Hastur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switching to Aziraphale’s POV now for this chapter. Angsty times are about to begin in earnest, sorry!  
> C/w Respiratory illness features heavily in the rest of the fic.

Aziraphale was pulling dried lavender buds from their stems, sat in his comfortable chair in the room behind the counter in the apothecary shop. The flowers released their scent into the air and he sighed, reminded of Crowley. _I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing_.

“I have other potential tenants, you realise, Gabriel?”

Aziraphale was sitting close enough to the telephone to hear both sides of the conversation.

“Yes, Mr. Hastur, I know, but - ”

“A Mr. Crowley is _very_ interested in the place. He’s a pharmacist, a very successful man. He has his own laboratory at the hospital. Now that’s a _growing_ industry, Gabriel, that’s something I can get behind. And I’m afraid to say he’s already offered to pay a good deal more to rent the space than you do.”

“Mr. _Crowley_...?” Gabriel growled. Aziraphale started and scattered lavender all over the table, earning him a glare from Gabriel, who clutched the earpiece closer, preventing Aziraphale from deciphering any more of Hastur’s muffled words. “I think I get the picture. No, thank _you_ , Mr. Hastur. Thank you for nothing.” Gabriel slammed the telephone back onto its cradle.

Aziraphale tried to sweep the flowers into a pile but his trembling hands just made them scatter even more. He stared open-mouthed at Gabriel, his eyes stinging with the threat of tears, his breath catching in his throat. He’d hoped he’d misheard Hastur’s words, but Gabriel’s reaction quickly confirmed that he hadn’t.

“That... that... SNAKE! Well, Aziraphale, I hope this _finally_ teaches you a lesson about trusting people. Don’t think I don’t know how much time you’ve been spending _fraternising_ with that man!”

“Fraternising?”

“Well, whatever you wish to call it. People talk, you know.”

“Well, let them talk, I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Are you sure about that, Aziraphale? You didn’t tell him anything about our business? Anything about our formulations? The rare varieties of plants we’ve sourced?” Aziraphale tried to swallow back the painful lump in his throat, but it had lodged itself there and had no intention of moving. “I thought so...” Gabriel sneered, shaking his head and storming out, slamming the door behind him. Aziraphale hung his head and his body shuddered violently as tears fell like raindrops onto his trousers.

Devastated barely began to describe how he was feeling. He had wrestled with himself for so long, finally finding the courage to respond to Crowley’s flirtation and act on his feelings, and now it turned out he’d just been using him to get information about their business. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around himself in a futile attempt at self-comfort.

Every time Crowley had looked at him, right from the first day they met, he’d made him feel like he was someone special and that he was actually attractive. No one had made him feel like that in a very long time. Crowley made him feel like he thought Aziraphale was the most important person in the entire world. No one else had _ever_ made him feel like that. 

It should have occurred to him that Crowley had an ulterior motive. Gabriel was always warning him that he was too quick to trust people, that most people would manipulate you as soon as look at you to further their goals, no matter the harm they caused along the way. But Aziraphale had seen how such thinking had hardened Gabriel, and he hadn’t wanted that for himself. If he built that wall around himself, how would anyone be able to find their way in? _He_ was a good person and he surely wasn’t the only one. There had to be someone out there he could trust, someone he could open up to, someone he could love. He’d really thought that person could be Crowley.

Had Crowley known the meaning of chrysanthemums in flower language? Had he intended them as an expression of affection, even love? Aziraphale barked out a laugh despite himself. Of course he hadn’t. Crowley had already said he’d won prizes for his chrysanthemums, that was just what he happened to be growing and have seeds for, it didn’t mean anything more. Or so Aziraphale hoped. He couldn’t bear the thought that Crowley would have done that on purpose to manipulate his feelings. All those hours he’d spent agonising over what colour the flowers would be, hoping they would be red, and considering those plants, starting from those tiny seeds and then gradually growing and thriving and soon to bloom, to be a representation of their relationship. Aziraphale dropped his head into his hands. _Listen to yourself!_

But all of this just didn’t sit right. Could Crowley really be that good an actor? There would have been no need for Crowley to flirt with him to get the information he wanted, surely he could tell that Aziraphale would share it with him freely and easily? So, Aziraphale wondered if perhaps there had been a misunderstanding on Mr. Hastur’s part, but there wasn’t much room for interpretation. Crowley was a pharmacist, and he was offering to pay more for the shop. He was going to force them to give it up.

But despite his realisation that this was the only explanation, Aziraphale couldn’t believe that Crowley’s feelings hadn’t at least _become_ something genuine. How Crowley had thought that was going to work once his plans were finally revealed baffled Aziraphale. “ _It’s just business, doesn’t have to change anything,_ ” he heard in Crowley’s voice in his mind.

Or, oh! Had he called on Mr. Hastur after Aziraphale had asked him to leave after their encounter in the shed, and staked his claim to the shop as revenge for Aziraphale leading him on?

_No, of course not, he would never do such a thing!_

Crowley had been nothing but gentle, understanding and respectful. It wasn’t an act, it couldn’t be. Aziraphale resigned himself to never figuring out what had been going on in Crowley’s mind. It didn’t matter anyway, the end result was the same. He just hoped he would never have to see him again.

* * *

A few days later, Aziraphale was attempting to pull weeds from around his peppermint plants, leaving some like the plantain, of course, and the fumitory, which had their own medicinal value. He was struggling, feeling out of breath from even the mildest exertion. He forced in a deep breath and fell back on to his haunches, giving up on the weeds and wiping the sweat from his face with his dirty hands. He could feel the mud sticking to his skin but he really didn’t care. It felt like a vice had been fixed around his lungs, and he was too hot, hotter than could be accounted for by the sun, which although bright had not yet risen sufficiently in the sky to really warm the air. He would much rather have been hiding inside, for more reasons than one, but Gabriel had insisted that Aziraphale had been neglecting the garden and needed to get the work done today.

Aziraphale heard a voice and his stomach tied in knots. He looked up from his position on the ground, seeing Crowley approach the garden wall.

“Aziraphale! It’s going to be a lovely day, isn’t it? I’ve just discovered a wonderful new bakery, I thought you might like some angel food cake. It’s an American recipe, apparently, very light...” he brandished a paper bag in Aziraphale’s direction. “Time for a tea break, perhaps?”

“No, it most certainly is not!” Aziraphale replied roughly, his voice so unaccustomed to such a tone that he started coughing. Or at least he hoped that was why he was coughing. He was starting to feel dizzy and desperately wanted Crowley to leave.

“Are you all right?” Aziraphale baulked at the look of concern in Crowley’s eyes.

“Perfectly. Tip top. Very busy, must get on.” Aziraphale managed to push himself into a standing position and the garden seemed to spin around him.

“Well, I’ll leave this with you then?” Crowley suggested softly, holding the bag across the wall.

“No. No, _thank you_ , Mr. Crowley. I want _nothing_ from you.” He turned his back before he could see Crowley’s reaction, shuffling his way back towards the building, praying that Crowley wouldn’t vault the wall and follow him. Thankfully he didn’t, and Aziraphale made his way into the back room, letting the door slam closed behind him. He rubbed his hands across his face again, this time to wipe away the tears, before occupying himself making a mallow tea to try to ease the pain in his lungs.


	8. Everything's going to be all right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After much deliberation, Crowley decides to pay Aziraphale another visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abandon all historical, medical and scientific accuracy all ye who enter the rest of this fic.  
> C/w respiratory infection

Crowley knew Aziraphale well enough by now to know his reaction had nothing to do with what had happened in the shed. There had been no anger in Aziraphale then, just a deep sadness at the archaic attitudes of their society, which Crowley could understand completely. How could society advance so quickly in some ways, like the miraculous discoveries in science and medicine, and firmly entrench itself in the Dark Ages when it came to other things that should have been much more straightforward to put right?

But Aziraphale’s outburst today had been about something else.

_Oh... he knows. He knows what I was planning. How does he know what I was planning?_

“Arrrhhhh, Hastur!” Crowley growled, throwing his head back. Crowley should have explained his plans in detail when he met with Hastur, because at the moment all that Hastur knew was that Crowley was willing to pay a lot to rent that space, and if he’d mentioned that to Gabriel...

Aziraphale had retreated to the back room of the shop, where they had shared so many delightful conversations and cups of tea, and the door had slammed closed behind him. Crowley wanted to leap over the wall and chase after him, to explain everything, but what good would it do? Whatever Aziraphale thought of him, it was all true. Whatever Hastur had said, those really had been Crowley’s plans. Aziraphale had no business even being friends with someone like him, let alone anything more.

Crowley agonised over what would be the right thing to do. If he did nothing, he would probably never see Aziraphale again, and Aziraphale would spend the rest of his life, or for as long as it took for him to never think of Crowley again, believing the worst about him. _But the worst is true_ , a treacherous voice in his mind reminded him.

“No, it isn’t. I’ve changed. He changed me.” _You know talking to yourself is a sign of madness, yes?_ “This _is_ madness,” Crowley whined. Didn’t someone as honest and trusting as Aziraphale deserve to know the truth? What if this was enough to destroy his trusting nature? Crowley couldn’t have that.

One day he couldn’t take it anymore. Crowley headed to the apothecary shop, watching just as he had months previously, waiting for Gabriel to leave before he headed inside. He furrowed his brow when he saw a lady stood behind the counter.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she greeted with a smile.

“Oh, hello. Sorry, I was hoping I might speak with Aziraphale?”

“Oh... I’m afraid my brother isn’t here at the moment.”

“You’re his sister?”

“Michael,” she nodded. Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I do think my parents had been hoping for another boy,” she added, smiling weakly. Crowley approached the counter.

“Do you know when Aziraphale will be back?” Crowley asked, trying to hide the desperation in his voice. Now that he was closer to Michael, he could see that her eyes were glistening as though holding back tears.

“I cannot say, I’m afraid. He is not well. The doctor believes it to be consumption but he’s not completely sure. The progression has been rapid.” Michael touched her palm to her chest.

Crowley’s stomach knotted and his knees buckled. He leaned on the shop counter for support. Oh God... Aziraphale had looked so unwell last time he’d seen him, and he had thought no more of it, assuming he was just upset about discovering Crowley’s plans for the shop! How could he have been so stupid?

“Would you take me to him please? I might be able to help.” His sister had apparently inherited the same caring, trusting nature as Aziraphale and nodded, smiling gratefully. She must have assumed he was a doctor.

Michael gestured for Crowley to join her behind the counter, Crowley easily stepping through the gap that he’d seen Aziraphale squeeze through several times. He followed Michael into a hallway and up the stairs. He’d never really thought about it before, but it made sense that Aziraphale lived above the shop. If he’d managed to get them evicted, Aziraphale wouldn’t have just lost his shop and his garden, but his _home_. Crowley clutched his arms around himself, his hands gripping hard on to either side of his waist.

“This is Aziraphale’s bedroom,” Michael murmured, stopping just outside the door. “He’s probably asleep. He’s been sleeping most of the time.” She held a finger up to her lips and Crowley nodded. Michael turned the brass door knob and carefully pushed the door open, standing back to allow Crowley to enter ahead of her. Her prediction had been accurate. Aziraphale was in bed, tartan blankets tucked up right under his chin, his head rolled over to the side and his eyes closed. His soft curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat, and at first it sounded like he was softly snoring, but Crowley soon realised he was hearing the sound of Aziraphale’s lungs struggling for each and every breath. Crowley crossed the room and sat beside him on the bed, desperately wanting to reach out and stroke his hair, but wary of Michael watching him. He turned his head to face her.

“Michael, could you fetch me a small jar from the shop, please? And a tongue depressor, or similar? A plant marker, even, if you have a clean one. Anything like that.” The image of plant markers scattering about his feet in the shed asserted itself in his mind, but he rapidly pushed it to the side.

“Right away, Doctor,” Michael replied. Crowley flinched, apparently no longer immune to the effects of being dishonest, but he didn’t correct her.

“Oh, my dear, sweet Aziraphale,” Crowley murmured, allowing himself now to card his fingers through the soft, slightly sticky blond curls. “It’ll be all right. I’ll do anything I can. I never told you before but I work in a hospital. I can - ”, Crowley began, but he stopped talking as Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open.

“Crowley?” he croaked, prompting a bout of coughing. “You’re... pharmacist.” More coughing, and Aziraphale grimaced and clutched at his ribs.

“Shhh... please don’t speak. I know you’ve heard some things, and we can talk about all that when you’re better, but for now I’m here to help you, all right? You just have to get better. Just focus on that. Everything else can wait.” Aziraphale furrowed his brow but nodded. Crowley smiled but withdrew his hand from Aziraphale’s hair, hearing footsteps outside the room. “Everything’s going to be all right. I’m here now.” He squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder gently through the blankets as Michael quietly slipped back into the room. She scurried over to the side of the bed and handed him a small empty vial and a flat, narrow wooden stick.

“Thank you, Michael,” he nodded, hoping she would retreat, but she remained hovering at his side. “Right, Aziraphale, I’m going to take a small sputum sample to take back to my laboratory so I can work out how to help you, all right?”

This wouldn’t have been Crowley’s first choice regarding dealing with Aziraphale’s bodily fluids, but right now all he could think about was doing whatever it took to help him recover. Aziraphale complied with Crowley’s request, letting him take the sample, which he deposited into the vial.

“I’ll come back as soon as I’ve got something to help you, I promise.”


	9. It's like magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley desperately tries to save Aziraphale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get bad but don’t worry it’s all going to be ok, I promise. Gabriel is just being despicable.  
> c/w Respiratory infection

Every day, Crowley worked well into the night, covering his workbench with candles for light, trying to find something that might destroy the infection plaguing Aziraphale’s lungs. He fell asleep at his desk, at his lab bench, even sometimes on the floor. He should be more careful, falling asleep with the candles lit like that, he could only make things worse by setting fire to the place. He barely ate and he refused to go home, although he was forced to admit he had made very little progress. He’d managed to culture a colony of bacteria from the sample he took from Aziraphale, but nothing seemed to do them any harm.

_You can’t give up now,_ he urged himself, but the fatigue and frustration were rapidly defeating him. Knowing there was no one else around (a quick glance at his pocket watch revealed it was nearly two o’clock in the morning), Crowley let out a loud growl. “Damn it all to hell!” What if Aziraphale died? What if he died never knowing what Crowley’s plans truly were? That he would give up everything he had ever worked for to make Aziraphale happy? That he... he loved him.

Crowley rose quickly from his lab stool, flinging it to the floor, and dragged his hands through his hair and down his face.

“I _love_ you, you sweet, bastard angel,” he sobbed. “Please, God, I’ve had my doubts as well you know but if you’re listening then please, PLEASE, help me! Help me save him!”

Crowley’s eyes settled on the chrysanthemum Aziraphale had given him, now in bloom with its beautiful red flowers, and his heart ached. Crowley scooped it up and clutched it close to his chest.

“FUCK!” he screamed, throwing the plant down at the lab bench, the terracotta pot shattering and scattering soil over all of his equipment. Crowley sobbed and fell down to his knees, rolling on to his side and drawing himself up into the foetal position. “Please don’t die...” he sobbed, finally succumbing to sleep right there on the laboratory floor, surrounded by soil and terracotta shards.

When Crowley awoke, it was morning. The candles had completely burned down, but light was streaming in through the window. He could hear the sounds of people moving about outside the laboratory, their muffled conversations and footsteps. He begrudgingly lifted himself into a half-sitting position, propping himself up on his elbows. He blinked against the light and focused on the debris around him, memories of what he’d done just before he fell asleep coming back to him and eliciting a groan from deep in his throat.

Crowley huffed out a long breath and rose to his feet, pulling the stool he’d flung over last night with him and flopping down on to it. Then he surveyed his lab bench. His equipment and workspace was covered with soil, and so was the culture of bacteria from the sample he’d taken from Aziraphale.

“Shit! Oh no, no, no, no!” he frantically brushed the soil away from the agar plate.

Crowley froze, holding the plate out in front of him incredulously once most of the dirt had fallen away, allowing him to see what had happened beneath. The bacterial colony had shrunk. Visibly _shrunk_ , overnight! Crowley choked back another sob and tried to focus. He remembered what Aziraphale had said when he’d given him a tour of the garden.

_The soil gives us the cures for all ailments, the answers to all of our prayers._

“It’s like magic,” Crowley whispered the rest of Aziraphale’s words aloud. “It’s the soil. There’s something in the soil!” he announced to the empty room.

Crowley was able to obtain new samples from tuberculosis patients on the ward, hoping for the first time that Aziraphale’s doctor had been right with his diagnosis. With newfound strength he continued to work tirelessly, until finally he was able to isolate the component of the soil that had managed to kill the bacteria - the white threads of a fungal mycelium. By now, the bacteria from the original sample had been completely destroyed.

It was early one morning when Crowley had finished preparing his first purified batch of the medicine. He shoved it in his pocket and ran from the hospital, ignoring the strange looks he elicited from his colleagues and giving no regard to his appearance, intent on getting to the apothecary shop as quickly as possible. He didn’t want Aziraphale to suffer for a second longer than he had to.

When Crowley arrived at the apothecary shop he was once again greeted by Michael. She looked almost as worn down and exhausted as he felt, dark shadows beneath her gentle eyes and her hair starting to fall loose around the sides of her face. Her eyes widened when she saw Crowley, and her lips even curled into a hopeful smile when he held out the vial of medicine for her to see that he’d kept his promise.

Michael touched a hand to her chest and nodded, not speaking, but ushering Crowley behind the counter. As before, she led him to Aziraphale’s bedroom. This time when she pushed the door open, Crowley’s stomach dropped when he saw that Aziraphale wasn’t alone. Gabriel rose from the bed, placing the bowl of boiling herbal water he’d been holding over Aziraphale’s chest on to the bedside table.

“You can’t be serious!” Gabriel growled. “Get him out of here!”

“Gabriel, please. I have medicine that can help Aziraphale!”

“We’re not interested in your kind of medicine!”

“This is natural. Completely natural, I promise!” Crowley desperately tried to reassure him, holding his hands in front of him to show he meant no harm. “Please, Gabriel!”

“You misunderstand me, I have nothing against pharmaceuticals! My problem is with _you_!”

“Gabriel, please! I promise this will help him! Please just give it to him, and then I’ll leave. Forever. You’ll never see me again. I _promise_.”

Michael was glancing between the two men, evidently trying to work out what she’d missed.

“Michael, please show Mr. Crowley out.”

“Mr. _Crowley_?” she squeaked. Apparently she recognised his name.

“That’s right, Michael. Now see him out.”

“Gabriel, Gabriel, please! PLEASE!” Crowley begged. Gabriel reached him before he could even process what was happening, and punched Crowley hard across his jaw. Michael gasped and scooted backwards towards the door.

“I swear to God, if you don’t leave right now...”

“But I can help him! I know I can, and I know you care about him, so please, Gabriel! I’ll do anything! Please, please, _please_ just let me help!”

Gabriel growled and leaned his face in so close that Crowley could feel his breath.

“Get. Out. Don’t make me strike you again,” he snarled. Crowley turned his head and looked imploringly at Michael.

“I do think he might be able to help, Gabriel. Isn’t that all that matters?” she meekly suggested from the corner of the room.

Gabriel had returned to his previous position sitting on the bed, his attention focused once more on his brother. Gabriel bent over Aziraphale, completely blocking him from Crowley’s view. With Gabriel’s back to them, Crowley decided to hold out the vial of medicine to Michael, still silently trying to urge her to take action. She reached out quietly and took it from him, tears running down her cheeks. Gabriel was leaning his face close to his brother’s. He stayed like that for a moment in silence, and Crowley clenched his fists, wondering if Gabriel would ever respond to his sister.

“It’s irrelevant, Michael,” Gabriel mumbled.

“What do you mean?”

Gabriel turned his head violently to meet her eyes, his own now glazed with tears. “I mean the medicine will do no good now! It’s too late! He’s...”

“No!” Michael sobbed. _What’s going on? What is he saying?_ A tear ran down Gabriel’s cheek.

“GET HIM OUT OF HERE!” he boomed, and Michael froze. But Crowley didn’t need her to lead him out, he bolted from Aziraphale’s bedroom, stumbling down the stairs, desperate to be alone to process what had happened. He ran out into the garden, yanking open the door of the shed and falling down to the floor, now free from clutter, as the door slammed shut behind him. And then he cried.

Crowley had no idea how much time passed before he dragged himself to his feet and forced himself to take each and every painful step from the garden to the hospital. There were two thousand nine hundred and eighty six of them; he counted them as he walked. He could feel the pavement pressing into the soles of his feet with every step, just one foot in front of the other. There was nothing else.

At first, curled up on the floor of the shed, his mind had gone completely, eerily silent as his body trembled and lurched with his sobs. Then it reawakened and heartlessly bombarded Crowley with every little thing he could have done differently to stop this from happening. If Aziraphale hadn’t been upset with him, they would have still been seeing each other every day. He would have known he was sick sooner, in time to save him, and even if Gabriel had been there he would have let him, because he wouldn’t have been angry about Crowley’s plans to take over the shop. _You’re gone, and it’s my fault. I’ve killed my best friend._

The small part of his mind dedicated to self-preservation had finally managed to battle those thoughts away. Besides, he couldn’t have stayed in the shed forever. Crowley couldn’t believe how quickly Aziraphale’s condition had deteriorated, and feared the same could happen to the patients on the ward who had helped him produce his medicine by providing him with samples on which to test it.

There was nothing he could do now to save Aziraphale, but maybe this medicine could help others and help honour his memory. Maybe he could even name it after him, his name did sort of sound like a medication as well as an angel now that he came to think about it. And thanks to kind, loving, genuine, honest, trusting Aziraphale, maybe thousands, even millions, of others could be spared the suffering he had endured. And when Crowley inevitably made money out of this, he’d still give it to Gabriel and Michael so they could use it to keep the shop open and honour their father’s wishes.

So, two thousand nine hundred and eighty six steps later, Crowley was back at his lab bench, focusing on his work to distract him from the intense anguish burning inside him. He purified another batch of his new medicine and tucked it into his pocket ready to take to the tuberculosis ward. Then he yanked out his watch and glared at it. It was the middle of the night. He couldn’t go to the ward now. The patients would be sleeping, and besides, he wouldn’t be permitted to give them any medication without speaking to the doctor. Avoiding protocol like that could cost him his job, and with it his ability to help anyone.

Exhausted, Crowley let his head fall down on to the lab bench, sleep capturing him almost instantly as he lay there surrounded by his notebooks and the burning candles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I’m sorry. But there will be a happy ending.
> 
> Some soil fungi produce antibiotics to kill off the bacteria that compete with them for nutrients. That's about the extent of the scientific accuracy here!
> 
> Naming a drug after Aziraphale was inspired by this hilarious video that I’m guessing most people have seen! https://youtu.be/6fpmkM9ZCWk


	10. Candles and paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael does what most of us have thought about at some point and then goes searching for Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, it's going to be ok! A short chapter, Michael's POV.

Michael sobbed and clutched her hands, still holding the vial Mr. Crowley had given her, fiercely to her chest.

“Gabriel, no! It can’t be...”

“Shh... shhhh...” Gabriel rose from the bed and came over to put his arm around his sister. Aziraphale coughed and Michael gasped, turning her head towards the sound and choking as she gulped down a breath.

“I thought he was...!”

“Shhh... no, no, Michael, he’s all right.”

“But you...!”

“I didn’t want _him_ here,” Gabriel scowled. Michael lost all control of herself, rage bubbling up in her chest and overwhelming every other emotion trying to assert itself. She gripped the vial tightly in one hand and used the other to slap Gabriel as hard as she possibly could across the face, only just managing to hold back from doing it again when he righted himself.

“How _dare_ you?” she screamed, rushing over to Aziraphale and pressing herself on to him, trying to give him a hug. In her enthusiasm she woke him, and Aziraphale shuffled uncomfortably beneath her, turning his head to the side and coughing more. “Oh, Aziraphale! I’m sorry! Here...”

Michael pulled the cork out of the vial.

“Don’t you dare, Michael!” Gabriel warned. She turned her head and hissed at him as though possessed by a snake. Michael helped Aziraphale to shuffle up slightly, his head leaning back against the headboard. “Take this medicine,” she whispered, and, trusting her as much as always, Aziraphale did.

About twelve hours later, Michael was sat beside her brother, smoothing his hair gently as he slept. The room was lit by the glow of a single candle on the bedside table, next to a small jar that Michael had brought upstairs with her, containing some of Aziraphale’s lavender oil. She picked it up, tipping some on to her fingertips and touching it to her brother’s temples to help him rest. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered open.

“Michael?” he croaked.

“Hello, there,” she said softly. Aziraphale pushed himself up to lean back against the headboard and pulled his hands up to press against his chest. He drew in a deep breath, and this time he didn’t cough.

“Michael, I can breathe. I can breathe more.” Michael sniffed and pressed her hand to her face, nodding enthusiastically. “What did you give me? Do you have more?”

“Not here, my lovely, but I can get more. I’ll go and get more. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Michael remembered back to the painful conversation she’d had with Gabriel, when he’d told her all about the telephone conversation he’d had with their landlord about Mr. Crowley, the pharmacist who was trying to take over their shop. _He has a laboratory in the hospital_ , Gabriel had said. That was her best chance of finding him and obtaining more of the medicine.

Michael grabbed her cape and bonnet and walked briskly towards the hospital, tears running down her face the entire way, but this time, they were born of relief and hope. Thoughts that perhaps she should not be out alone at this time of night (it was almost a quarter to ten) were scarcely considered. Michael walked with purpose along the almost desolate streets until she reached the hospital, relieved to find the front door open. It occurred to her that Mr. Crowley was unlikely to be here at such a late hour, but it didn’t matter. If she couldn't find him she would stay all night and make sure she was here the moment he returned.

Upon entering the hospital, Michael found the reception desk abandoned. The lamps were all turned low and the corridors seemed deserted. Michael followed the signs for “Pharmacy”, hoping that would lead her to her objective.

Michael could smell the smoke long before she reached the door labelled “Mr. A. J. Crowley. Laboratory of Pharmaceutical Development.”, and when she finally reached the door she could feel the heat emanating from it. She retreated back down the corridor shouting for help, but no one responded.

MIchael covered her nose and mouth with her cloak, wrapping the lower part of it around her hand to protect her from the heat as she turned the door handle and pushed open the door. And there, lying unconscious with his head on his workbench, with the bright, intense flames flickering around him, was Mr. Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because apparently he hasn't suffered enough, poor Crowley! <3 We're nearly there now!


	11. Rebuilding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel redeems himself and Crowley welcomes back some old friends...

When Crowley regained consciousness he wasn’t in his laboratory any more. He didn’t know _where_ he was, but he did know he was on the floor. He groaned and coughed, each breath feeling like it wasn’t really achieving anything. It was dark outside, and the room he was in was barely lit, an oil lamp on the wall turned down to its lowest illumination. Crowley studied the tartan rug he had apparently been lying on. It looked sort of familiar.

“You’re awake. Sit up.” He felt strong hands grab at his waist and lift him up into a seated position on the rug. One hand moved to his back, pushing him to lean forward, the other was then placed firmly on the top of his head, forcefully tilting his head down. “You inhaled smoke. Breathe in the steam.”

He felt the hand on top of his head move away, and suddenly Crowley was staring into a bowl of boiling water with various dried leaves and flowers floating in it, being held in position by the hand that had left his head, the other still exerting a slight pressure on his back. Crowley tilted his head to examine the presence beside him.

“Gabriel?”

“Hello, sunshine.”

Apparently content that Crowley could hold up his own weight, Gabriel removed his hand from his back and shuffled to sit beside him, still holding the bowl close to Crowley’s face. Crowley let his head fall down towards the bowl and breathed in as deeply as he could, his lungs still resisting.

“What happened?”

“You set fire to your laboratory?”

“What?” Crowley whipped his head away from the bowl to look Gabriel in the eye. “Of course I didn’t! 'Was working, making more of that medicine. Patients on the ward. For in the morning. Must have fallen asleep,” he recounted, rubbing his eyes.

“With your head on your desk next to a lit candle and a stack of paper by any chance?”

Crowley’s eyes widened with understanding. Then his mind crawled itself out of the blissful ignorance of semi-consciousness, realising he was in the back room of the apothecary shop and remembering everything that had happened.

“Oh, God!” Crowley moaned, pushing Gabriel’s hand away and the bowl with it, some of the water sloshing over the side. Gabriel flinched, putting the bowl down on the rug and flicking his hand back and fore to shake off the near-boiling water. Crowley folded himself up and pressed his head to his knees, hugging his arms around his legs. “How did I get here?”

“Michael went looking for you. Dragged you out of the fire. She came back to get me to help.”

“I’m surprised you did,” Crowley mumbled into his knees. Gabriel hummed in agreement.

“I’m sure you realise by now that I’m aware of everything you’re planning,” Gabriel muttered.

Crowley raised his head and looked at him incredulously. _How can he be talking about this now after.... everything?_ But even with Aziraphale gone, Crowley felt the need to explain himself. Maybe if Gabriel and Michael knew, that was better than nothing. They would know that Aziraphale hadn’t been wrong to trust him. Aziraphale deserved for his siblings to know that about him. And they _had_ just saved Crowley’s life, although God only knew why Gabriel had helped.

“It isn’t what you think, Gabriel. It _was_... but then it wasn’t. I knew your business was struggling, and at one point I wanted to rent the property, but that was such a long time ago now. I offered Hastur money. I’ve been paying him to stop him renting the building to someone else. But I’ve been doing that to keep _you_ here, to stop him offering the premises to someone else, that’s all. I was going to talk to you. I had a proposal for you. I thought we could combine our expertise. Like partners. Offer people a wider range of medicines. The best of both worlds.” Crowley was painfully aware that he was rambling, and his lungs were ardently objecting to the effort. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” Crowley ran out of steam and collapsed his head back down on to his knees with a sigh.

“I do. But you’re not saying that was your plan all along.”

“No. No it wasn’t,” he groaned, lifting his head again and grabbing the steam bowl back off the rug and taking a few deep breaths.

“What changed your mind?” Gabriel asked softly, and Crowley's shoulders lurched forward as he sobbed into the bowl, his face almost touching the water. The tears that rolled down his cheeks dripped almost serenely into the bowl. The two of them sat there for a while, no words spoken between them, until the last of Crowley’s tears had fallen into the bowl.

“Come with me,” Gabriel murmured.

Gabriel seemed to have accepted Crowley’s admission as the truth, and when Crowley turned to look at him, he saw Gabriel was even smiling. Gabriel rose from the floor and held out a hand to help Crowley, who set the bowl aside, placing it carefully on the tartan rug, dragging himself to his feet, relying on Gabriel’s strength more than he cared to admit to get him there.

“Let’s go upstairs.”

Crowley’s eyebrows knitted together as he tried hard to understand what Gabriel was suggesting. When it occurred to him, Crowley’s heart shattered into a million pieces. He scrunched his eyes closed and clutched Gabriel’s hand harder, trying to steady himself.

_He’s going to let me say goodbye._

As devastating as it was going to be, Crowley knew he had to see Aziraphale one last time before the undertaker came for him. He found himself actually experiencing gratitude towards Gabriel for granting him this opportunity, but he was too overwhelmed to express it.

Crowley sobbed again, releasing Gabriel’s hand and drawing his arms across his body. He forced himself to take slow, deep breaths, trying to steady himself. At least whatever Gabriel had put in that bowl had helped him breathe a little easier. There really was something to be said for natural medicine.

The small smile on Gabriel’s face had melted away by the time they reached the door to Aziraphale’s bedroom, and he stood still for a moment, fixing his eyes on Crowley. “I’m sorry,” he stated sombrely, twisting the knob and pushing the door open.

Crowley stepped into the room and was immediately confronted by the sight of Michael sat on the side of the bed and Aziraphale sitting up, leaning his head back against the headboard and smiling at his sister.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley’s breaths started coming short and sharp, his knees threatening to buckle as he gasped for air. Gabriel stepped up close to the side of him.

“Easy sunshine, deep breaths, come on, it’s all right,” Gabriel soothed, gently rubbing a hand up and down Crowley’s back. Michael rose from the bed and threw her arms around him, squeezing him into a tight hug. When she pulled away, she gestured to the spot on the bed that she had just vacated and smiled, nodding her head towards it, but Crowley didn’t move. He clutched on to her arms, Gabriel’s hand still on his back, not sure if he would even be able to stand on his own let alone walk across the room. Part of him wanted nothing more than to throw himself at Aziraphale, but he was frozen in place with Michael in front of him and Gabriel behind, unable to process what was going on.

“What happened?” he croaked.

“Your medicine!” Michael beamed. “I gave it to him! That’s why I came looking for you, I was hoping you had more? Though, I suppose with the fire...” she considered sadly.

“The medicine? Yes, I have it! In my pocket!” Crowley announced, remembering his plans to visit the ward in the morning. Despite his announcement Crowley still didn’t move, so Michael patted his pockets down until she found the one with the vials of medicine in it, which she carefully extracted and took over to her brother. “It was the soil. It’s in your soil. I can teach you how to make it.” These thoughts occurred to Crowley only as quickly as he said them aloud.

_He’s alive, here’s here, he’s all right. Nothing else matters._

Crowley watched Aziraphale swallow back the medicine as Michael retreated back towards the bedroom door, placing her hand gently on Crowley’s forearm as she passed him.

“May we all be so fortunate to know such love,” she smiled with a glance over at Gabriel. Crowley was shocked to see him nodding along in agreement.

“We’ll leave you to it,” Gabriel said quietly. “And when you’re ready, I’d like to discuss your proposal.” Crowley nodded, still staring at Aziraphale in disbelief as Gabriel and Michael left the room, gently pulling the door closed behind them.

Then it was just the two of them.

Crowley simply gazed at Aziraphale for a while. His body hadn’t had time to metabolise whatever was responsible for the emotions he’d been experiencing earlier, leaving him enduring an unsettling mixture of joy and anguish.

“Proposal?” Aziraphale croaked. He furrowed his brow in deep concentration. “Are you going to marry my sister?”

At that, the anguish finally slipped away and Crowley burst out laughing, using one hand to clutch at his aching ribs and the other to hold on to the chest of drawers at the side of the room to stop him from falling down to the ground. He took a deep breath in an attempt to quash the laughter, tears streaming down his face. Aziraphale looked extremely put out, but that only made Crowley laugh even more. Eventually he managed to stumble towards the bed, settling himself down close to Aziraphale.

“No, Aziraphale, I’m not going to marry your sister.” Aziraphale still looked confused. “A _business_ proposal, angel.”

So Crowley explained everything to him, and Aziraphale listened intently, leaning closer and closer to him as he spoke, his lips parted, his eyes wide with wonder.

“I never want to do anything to hurt you, angel, and I’d give up anything to make you happy. I’d even give up _you_ , if that’s what you want. I said it to Gabriel too, and I mean it. I just want you to be happy, so I’ll leave if you want. Or I’ll stay, and maybe we can be partners,” he hoped Aziraphale would pick up on the double meaning he’d intended with that word. “Either way, I’ll share everything I know with you. I love you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale’s hand had wormed its way out from underneath the blankets and seized Crowley’s. He was squeezing it tightly.

“I love you too.”

“May I kiss you? I don’t care if you’re infectious, we have medicine now,” Crowley teased.

“No you may not! I would never wish this on you! But when I’m better, you may. Please do. Repeatedly.”

“Oh I will,” Crowley grinned, smoothing his hand up and down Aziraphale’s chest over the blankets. “What else would you like me to do to you when you’re better?” Aziraphale blushed furiously and used his free hand to pull the blankets up higher to hide part of his face. Crowley tugged them back down. “Tell me.”

“Well, it has been sunny these past few weeks. I told you it would happen. I set a rather large bottle of oil out to infuse with my lavender flowers. Enough to... Well, you might recall you made a suggestion?”

“Ohhh... massage oil? I like the sound of that, angel,” Crowley grinned, surprised to feel his own cheeks burning.

“Well, it was your idea.”

“I’m clever, me.”

“Yes, you are,” Aziraphale replied, all teasing dropped as he stared at Crowley with an expression of sincere wonder. Crowley’s abdominal soldiers started waving their flag, trying to get his attention. _Oh, you’re back are you?_ They did a little parade in response to Aziraphale’s praise.

“It’s a plan, then. As soon as you’re better,” Crowley smiled, patting Aziraphale’s chest affectionately and resting his hand there, before something on the bedside table caught his attention. “Is this...?” he began, lifting up the small jar of oil.

“Yes, it’s been helping me sleep.”

“Well, you’ll need your rest if you’re going to hurry up and get better so I can do all manner of things to you with quite extraordinary amounts of this lavender oil,” Crowley teased, feeling Aziraphale move slightly closer to him as he shifted his hips on the bed. “Open your nightshirt for me.”

Aziraphale released Crowley’s hand and did as he was told, unbuttoning the top five buttons of his nightshirt. Meanwhile, Crowley was pouring lavender oil onto his fingertips.

“Shuffle down, put your head back on the pillow.”

Again, Aziraphale obeyed ( _if he can’t not do as he’s told, that could be a lot of fun on a future occasion_ , Crowley thought) and settled down into a comfortable position lying flat on the bed, the blankets now pulled down so they were just covering his stomach. Crowley pushed his fingers through the opening in Aziraphale’s shirt, rubbing the lavender oil onto his chest in soothing, circular motions. Aziraphale closed his eyes and let out little sighs as Crowley’s hand moved over him. Of all the things Crowley wanted to do with Aziraphale, there was nothing he wanted more right now than this, making sure Aziraphale knew he would always take care of him.

“Feels nice.”

“I’m glad it feels nice, angel,” Crowley chuckled. “Now go to sleep for me, all right?”

“Don’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Ever. I promise.” With one hand still gently rubbing lavender oil into Aziraphale’s chest, Crowley reached up his other to tenderly brush back the soft curls falling on to his forehead. Aziraphale sighed and closed his eyes, snuggling himself down more into the pillow. Crowley leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek, and he could feel Aziraphale’s muscles tugging his lips into a smile before he pulled back. “Sweet dreams, my love.”

“Keep touching me like that and I’m sure they will be,” Aziraphale grinned and licked his lips, in every other way still the picture of sleepy relaxation. Crowley was glad Aziraphale kept his eyes closed, not sure he could handle him saying things like that and actually looking at him at the same time. The soldiers once more solicited Crowley’s attention.

_Just rebuild the barracks in the south, lads, I’ll let you know when you’re needed._ Crowley grinned to himself.

Aziraphale wriggled one arm free from the blankets again and patted it around until it hit Crowley. On his thigh. Really far up his thigh.

_No, not NOW!_

“Ngk!”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale’s eyes opened.

“Just go to sleep, angel. _Please_. Hurry up and get better.”

Aziraphale grinned and closed his eyes again, his hand coming to rest just a little lower on Crowley’s thigh. He knew exactly what he was doing. Bastard.

_Oh God, I love him so much._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised they would get their happy ending, and the next chapter will be 100% pure fluff! I haven't finished writing it yet but at least we've got past the angst, hooray!
> 
> Again, thank you so much for reading this and for your kudos and comments - they water my apothecary garden, bring in my harvest and set some seeds aside to plant next year. <3


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's plans come to fruition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, the fluff I promised! :-) Thank you to HolRose for naming Crowley’s new drug! <3

“Crowley! That’s cruel!”

“No, no, no, it’s _brilliant_ , watch!”

Crowley set down his scalpel, waiting for the lines across Aziraphale’s forehead to soften as both parts of the flatworm he had just dissected wriggled over each other and then slithered off in opposite directions.

“The larger one will have completely regenerated itself in a couple of days. I’ve been investigating whether there’s a chemical that triggers cellular regeneration, something I could extract and purify.”

“Oh, well, as long as you’re only torturing the poor dears in the name of scientific advancement,” Aziraphale teased. He looked up from the petri dish and cast his eyes around the room. “I must say I am most impressed with your laboratory.”

“Thank you. They did a fantastic job refitting it after the fire.” Crowley blinked hard, trying to force back his memories of that day. He didn’t recall the fire itself, but his memories of what had happened before it, or at least what he’d _thought_ had happened, still tormented him. He opted to change the subject. “Right, let’s have lunch! I was going to suggest a picnic but the weather’s back to its usual gloomy state.”

“Yes, it is a bit damp,” Aziraphale agreed with an adorable scrunch of his nose. “Well, speaking of refitting, shall we go and see how the shop fitters are getting on?”

“Great idea,” Crowley agreed, fitting the lid back on top of his dish of precious, dismembered ( _can you be dismembered if you don’t have limbs?_ ) flatworms. “But before we go, I want to show you something.”

“By all means. After you.” Aziraphale extended his arm towards the door and smiled as Crowley passed him. Crowley led Aziraphale along a series of nondescript hospital corridors that gave no clues as to where they were heading, although it was evident from Aziraphale’s gleeful expression that he knew exactly where Crowley was taking him.

The new drug he’d manufactured from the soil in Aziraphale’s garden (Aziraphillin, of course), had been a huge success. In the newspapers it had been described as nothing short of miraculous. Crowley had made a small fortune, not only for himself but also for the hospital, the result of which he was leading Aziraphale to now. His heart was beating rapidly again and he rubbed his palms against his trousers as they rounded the corner and both looked up at the newly affixed sign.

_The Michael Fell Centre For Respiratory Medicine._

Crowley and Aziraphale turned to each other and grinned.

“Has she seen it yet?” Aziraphale asked.

“No, they only just finished putting up the sign. Besides, I thought you might like to show her?”

“Thank you, my dear. Oh, I hope she will be pleased. None of this would have happened were it not for her. Do you know, I vaguely recall that she slapped Gabriel in the face!” Aziraphale giggled. Crowley threw his head back and laughed.

“She deserves to have the entire hospital named after her for that!”

“We should both show her,” Aziraphale said softly, momentarily intertwining his fingers with Crowley’s and squeezing gently before letting his hand fall back to his side.

The wind had picked up, and the rain was more like a travelling mist in the air that assaulted them from all directions, but Crowley and Aziraphale paid it no attention, smiling, talking and occasionally brushing their shoulders together as they walked in the direction of the shop, where another new sign had recently been completed.

Crowley had done exactly as he had intended with the money he’d made and invested it in Gabriel's shop, which was now officially Gabriel, Aziraphale and Crowley’s shop. Crowley had insisted that Gabriel include Aziraphale as one of the owners on the paperwork, and Gabriel hadn't objected at all.

Crowley had had fun one night teasing Aziraphale with names for their joint venture. He had suggested a combination of their two professions, but Aziraphale had complained that “Apochemist” sounded too much like “Apocalypse” and astutely pointed out that it could put people off.

So now, standing on the grey, drizzly street, Crowley and Aziraphale were looking up at Fell’s Apothecary and Chemist. After Aziraphale had so rudely rejected his creative suggestion, Crowley had insisted that they keep Aziraphale’s father’s name on the shop. Aziraphale had shed a tear and pulled Crowley into a tight embrace, which had lasted for several minutes before evolving into other activities.

“How do you think he’d feel about this?” Crowley asked now, as they stared up at the sign.

“I think he would be very proud,” Aziraphale beamed. “He would have come to see, as I have, that science can enhance what nature has to offer, by extracting certain parts, making them more potent, as I understand it?”

Crowley knew Aziraphale understood his work much more than he was letting on. He’d crept quietly into the back room and caught Aziraphale reading biochemistry and organic chemistry books on more than one occasion. Crowley too had been learning about Aziraphale’s work, and had gained a much deeper appreciation for herbal medicine.

“It is up to each of us to ensure we don’t lose our connection to nature as the world moves on,” Aziraphale concluded.

“Well, any time you want to connect with nature, there’s a _very_ quiet little pool beneath a waterfall in the woods just up from the hospital. No one would disturb us,” Crowley added with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Aziraphale shook his head, but the insincerity of his disapproval was evident as he licked his lips and a delicate blush rose on his cheeks.

After a moment, they both returned their attention to the new sign. Fortunately, the sign writer had finished his work yesterday before the rain started, but even with the damp air the smell of fresh paint still lingered, and with it the promise of a brand new start. Today was the first day of the rest of their lives.

When they stepped through the door, Crowley was pleasantly surprised to see that the shop fitters had already finished their work. He and Aziraphale glanced at each other before each beginning an independent exploration of the space and its new shelving, which they would soon fill together to create something that was truly theirs. Crowley was reminded of the first inspection he’d made of the shop in the spring, but what had become of it was much better than anything he could have imagined. He looked over to Aziraphale, who was running his hand over the bright white counter with narrowed eyes. Crowley took a deep breath.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, no, I didn’t say that. I’ll get used to it.” Crowley’s stomach lurched for a moment, then he caught the twitching at the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth.

“Are you winding me up?”

“You just make it so easy, my dear,” Aziraphale replied smugly, stepping back across the room to join Crowley and taking both of his hands in his own. “I _love_ it. I suppose I _can_ picture myself in a modern pharmacy after all,” he mused.

“I can picture you inside a modern _pharmacist_!” Crowley blurted out, failing to achieve the intended emphasis on the end of the word. Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and released Crowley’s hands.

“I’m sorry, what was that, my dear?”

“You... you said, when you said that before, you know when we were having tea, you said, ‘Can you picture me inside a modern pharmacy?’, and I thought, what I _wanted_ to say, well, I mean I _didn’t_ because that would have been inappropriate, you were being all adorable and bearing your soul to me, but what I _could_ have said was...” Crowley paused to take a breath. “I can picture you inside a modern pharma _cist_.” _That’s better_. “Just thought I’d... you know, put that out there.”

Aziraphale’s lips parted and he stood still, hands dangling at his sides, just staring at Crowley for a few seconds before he burst into a fit of hysterical laughter.

After giving Aziraphale more than a reasonable amount of time to compose himself, Crowley narrowed his eyes and glared at him. He tilted his head, raised his eyebrows, shook his head, spread his arms out to the sides, but none of his attempts to urge Aziraphale to stop laughing worked. So he huffed and slipped behind the brand new counter, flopping down on to the stool behind the partition. It wasn’t too long before Aziraphale was standing beside him, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Oh... I’m sorry, my dear. That was actually quite witty.”

“Ngk,” Crowley grunted, huffing and turning away. Aziraphale leaned in from behind, kissing Crowley’s neck as well as he could with Crowley fully dressed, gradually working his way up to his ear. Crowley shivered from the hot breath as Aziraphale murmured into it.

“I’m sure that can be arranged, my love, if you’d like to do more than just picture it.”

Aziraphale reached down and grabbed hold of Crowley tightly around his waist, spinning him around on the stool to face him. He leaned over him, capturing his lips in a passionate but agonisingly brief kiss, before leaning back and pressing his hand firmly against Crowley’s chest. The way Aziraphale looked at him made Crowley feel like he’d swallowed a whole jar full of his flatworms, headless and frantically trying to find a way out.

“So... what else has been going on in that imagination of yours?” Aziraphale continued, smoothing out the fabric of Crowley’s shirt. When no answer was forthcoming, Aziraphale deftly undid Crowley’s tie, slid it from his neck and undid the top few buttons of his shirt. He slid his hand inside, holding back the fabric and lowering his mouth to Crowley’s collarbone. Crowley groaned.

“Why are you trying to kill me? I did save your life!”

“I’ll make sure you die with a smile on your face,” Aziraphale mumbled against his tingling flesh.

“Ngghh.” _Bastard._ Aziraphale chuckled softly, withdrawing from Crowley as footsteps approached. Michael shook her head in mock disapproval as she stepped into the room and passed by them, a smirk on her face.

“Don’t mind me, gentlemen.”

Aziraphale widened his eyes and flicked his gaze towards Michael for a second before nodding at Crowley.

“Oh... erm, right. Michael?”

“Yes, Mr. Crowley?” she feigned politeness, crossing her arms across her chest and refusing to wipe that smug grin off her face. Were they actually twins and Aziraphale had just never mentioned it?

“Would you be available for a short walk this afternoon? There’s something we’d like to show you.”

“Oh! Yes, all right,” she smiled, then stepped through the door into the room behind the counter. Aziraphale shuffled back close to Crowley and patted his chest affectionately. Crowley leaned around him to check that Michael had properly closed the door.

“You really want to know what I’ve been thinking about?” Crowley growled, determined to reclaim the upper hand. He couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d had it. Aziraphale licked his lips.

“I do.” Crowley rose from the stool with no warning, catching Aziraphale off guard before he could step back, their bodies pressed together for a moment before Crowley slinked off to the back room.

“I promise I didn’t steal it from your garden,” Crowley announced, walking back into the shop twirling a white rose between his fingers. He held it out to Aziraphale.

“Oh, Crowley...”

“You’re stuck with me forever, you know that, right?”

“I do hope so,” Aziraphale murmured, inspecting the rose as though it was the most (perhaps _second_ most) beautiful thing he had ever seen, and raising it to his nose to breathe in its scent.

“Good. Then I suggest we have lunch, then take Michael to the hospital, and she’ll be so pleased with us that she’ll agree to take Gabriel out to dinner tonight so we can have this place to ourselves.”

“Why ever would we need that?” Aziraphale asked with mock innocence.

“Well, you wanted to know what I’ve been thinking about, and it involves you and me and this brand new shiny counter,” Crowley grinned. Aziraphale parted his lips and studied Crowley before turning his attention to the counter. He closed his eyes and hummed with satisfaction, the same way he did whenever he tucked into one of the delicious cakes that Crowley liked to bring him.

“Temptation accomplished,” Aziraphale beamed, closing the distance between them and reaching one hand behind Crowley’s neck to pull him into another kiss, the other still twirling the symbol of eternal love between his fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this to the end, I do hope you've enjoyed it! Writing has given me a good distraction from the isolation of shielding (5 months and counting!) and I really appreciate your kudos and comments. <3
> 
> Going to jump straight into writing another AU about these boys now!


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